between roses and peppermint
by evil minded
Summary: AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family, about friendship and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a small church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago … have fun reading …
1. foreword - God, Jesus and me

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.  
Child neglect as well as child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter one – foreword – God, Jesus … and me** **…**

 **Or – why God is so important in my life**

 **6th of September, 2013**

 **Schramberg, county of Rottweil, state of BW – Germany**

This first chapter, the foreword to the prequel of a story I've started here on fanfiction months ago already, might give away the impression that the story itself might be a biography, and some of my regular readers here on fanfiction might already wonder why I, of all people, would start writing something like a biography to begin with – but be assured, it is not.

I have only written it because I felt the need to explain one thing or another, and accidentally this one thing or another, had started a life on its own, but I'm sure that this is something most authors have to deal with – their pencils moving on their own, their protagonists doing the most stupid things they have never planned for them, and their stories being completely different from what they'd intended in the beginning, but that is something I'll come back to, later on … for now, I'm presenting you with a story that might be completely different from what you're used to when it comes to my writing – 'between roses and peppermint' … the prequel to 'and sit a while with me' …

I hadn't been planning to write a prequel to that book, a sequel maybe, but surely no prequel … but, seeing that one of the pastors from our church had asked me to write "a story" about the picture God one day had given me concerning our church, well – here you go … you'll get a prequel. I'm just not really sure if he'll be really happy about it, because – well … I've asked him if there were a "word-limit", after all, I know that he doesn't like reading too much, but he told me that, no, I could use as many words as I'd need to describe that picture. I fear he wasn't aware about the little fact that a 50.000 word story is the minimum of what I'd ever written … and that's years ago while meanwhile I won't write stories shorter than 250.000 words, not to mention that I'm not sure he'd been aware of me writing this in English … but again, English is the language I can write best in, and seeing that I'm planning to give him my best work … *shruggingshoulders* … English it is and an entire book, I fear, it will become.

Alright, now let's start with this foreword …

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~*~*~*~*~ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

I was born in 1971, at the beginning of October, to be precise, even though I have to admit that I can't be any more precise than – well, it must have been at some time between the 5th and the 7th of October and apparently it had been rather adverse circumstances – and I don't know where exactly I was born either, someplace around or between Göppingen and Geislingen. But at least _one_ thing I can say for sure – namely that God seemed to already have a plan for me back then, because he'd had his hands not only above me but below me, and around me, too – like he'd had a lot of times during my youth – or I wouldn't be here today to annoy you with my babbling.

Actually, everything had already started while my mother was pregnant with my humble person.

She was a chain-smoker and she was an alcoholic – and I don't speak of two or three beers or glasses of wine each night and a daily jag but I'm speaking of real alcoholism – well, you should know that my mother had been drinking and smoking a lot – a real lot – during her pregnancy, and there hadn't been a day when she'd been sober, not to mention that alcohol was not the only thing she'd been dependant on.

I don't really know what had happened after my birth, because I've been too young to consciously realize – and then remember – anything, and of course my grandmother hadn't been there to witness anything, but apparently my mother hadn't really cared for me, because when she'd given me to my grandmother, she'd called her family doc as I'd been not only a tiny, little thing, too small for her liking, but apparently dehydrated and starved enough so that I hadn't even cried anymore – and my grandmother's family doc had then determined a date of birth based on a rough estimate, telling her that surely I'd had to be a seven-month preemie and that due to the dehydration and neglect, not to mention the alcohol- and drug-misuse, the chances of my survival were minimal.

But well, I have survived, and I am still here to annoy people with my often strange ways of acting, something that is more than just a small miracle, that I'd survived this pregnancy of hers safely. After all – how many children are born with brain-damage, with a weak heart, or with weak lungs because of their mothers consuming nicotine and alcohol excessively?

Alright – sometimes I think that I – _"stayed behind"_ in my heart, for the lack of a better word – and if I'm honest with myself, then in my mind and ways of thinking too. But even though I've somehow remained a child, and even though I'm seeing many things from a childish viewpoint, seeing men generally not as men but as some kind of late father substitute, so I anyway think that I can say with sureness – I'm neither stupid nor mentally retarded and the one or other mental and physical problems and scars I've not obtained during this pregnancy of my mother's but some years later while living in her household.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Today I know that my fears – that I just as well could be disabled or even dead – aren't so far from reality actually.

I have four other siblings – two older sisters, one older brother and one younger brother. However, my mother had given birth to another boy, some time after my younger brother was born. I don't know under which circumstances this child had been born, nor do I know the circumstances under which he'd died – I don't even know how old he'd been, whatever. But I know that my oldest sister once told me a story about how it had been her duty to look after her younger siblings while my mother had been working at one or another job during the day to make money and while she had hung out in pubs during the night to waste the same money on drinks – even though my oldest sister had been a really small child back then herself. And seeing that the same story was told by not only her but my aunt, and my grandaunt, too – and considering later years I have lived through while living in my mother's household, I can be relatively sure that it's a true story.

Apparently there hadn't been too much food back then, sometimes no food at all, and often my oldest sister had stirred water and flour to a strange glop so that her smaller siblings had at least _something_ to eat. One day, apparently, the pastor had stood in front of the door and had asked for my mother – I don't know why, because at that time she hadn't been a believer and had she been at home back then she would have most likely thrown any pan and pot she had in reachable distance after the pastor.

On the contrary – whenever I have mentioned God, Jesus, Heaven or anything else which I had heard from either my grandmother once or at school, then it came along with trouble I got into with my mother and comments like "there's no such a thing as God and you better shut your mouth about it, I won't have any of that nonsense here in my house!"

However, this pastor had given my sister a bar of chocolate – and my sister had been very happy. Not because it was _"sweets"_ , but because it was _anything_ to eat at all and she had fed her younger siblings with it. She's to this day saying that she's never ever again got a beating like that from her mother – not because she'd given the chocolate to her younger siblings, but because she'd taken the chocolate from the pastor in the first place.

My oldest sister surely would know more about this brother who'd died – and why – but she won't tell anything and so I could only speculate, which I shouldn't do, I know, but it's hard not to. I just know that there'd been a child, and he had to be but a few months when he'd died – and considering the circumstances in which my mother had – _"kept"_ – her children, and nothing else it had been, and seeing that her other children had been taken away from her around that time, I think it's not hard to imagine how he'd died – especially as no one is telling anything about it, because if it had been crib death, then people could just name it.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

However, I don't know the exact circumstances under which _I_ was born – except that my mother apparently was dead drunk … again … and one day she stood – just sober enough to being able to think somewhat clearly as it seems or she wouldn't have done the only good thing she'd done in my life – in front of my grandmother's house and pushed a small bundle into her arms with the words – "you look after it" – and well, gone she was again for the next ten or something years.

Back in the house – and the bundle being unpacked – my grandmother realized that … oh damn, there's a child in it!

My aunt, who is 12 years younger than my mother, had been living with my grandmother still – and she had looked for some old doll-clothes from a box in the attic – so I've gotten my first clothing ever, from a doll.

I got something to drink and then my grandmother called her family doc. Apparently I'd been born ways too early and apparently I'd been very small – what surely hadn't made it easier for the doc to determine an exact time of birth – but other than that, the doc had said something like: "that child has to be about a day old, perhaps two, and therefore I'd reckon it was born on the 6th of October – more or less".

My grandmother had tried to get information from hospitals and surgeries around and between Göppingen and Geislingen, but none had any information about a mother and her newborn – well, normally people stayed in hospital following a birth, after all, and so – my mother apparently gave birth to me _someplace_ and to this day no one knows when and where exactly that had been.

So – my birth certificate bears the 6th of October and Göppingen as date and place of birth, even though I would have preferred the 7th of October as I love the number seven.

Aaaaalright – and then there I was, living with my grandmother, my aunt, and my uncle – living in a German-American family and environment, and for some years I've had the best life ever.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

My grandmother was the best person I ever knew – except of my husband, of course, and she'd been the greatest person on this God-created planet called earth.

She wasn't a tall woman, but the first time I realized that _I_ was small, was one day in September 1977 and shortly before my sixth birthday – it's been when my grandmother told my grandaunt that surely she wouldn't have me in school that year as I simply was too small to carry a schoolbag even – but I didn't really mind back then. I've had a very good friend in the kindergarten, and as I didn't care about how old all those children there were compared to their heights, well – who cared about their own height while playing? Surely not me, and so my fourth kindergarten-year went by and the next date for my school enrolment arrived, September 1978, just a few weeks before my seventh birthday, but still my grandmother said things like "that child is too small, really, she wouldn't even manage carrying her schoolbag!" or "sometimes I think she's got damaged during her mother's pregnancy, or after birth when she hadn't been cared for. And she's been born just too early, too, it was to be expected that something like that would happen!"

Of course my granny didn't say those things in front of me, she loved me very much, after all, and she'd never hurt me intentionally. But just like any other normal child, I've been curious and very much interested in things that hadn't been my concern, and so of course I heard such comments when my grandmother was talking to her siblings, or to my aunt who lived with us together with her own small family.

However – it came to pass that I didn't go to school in September 1978 either, but went to preschool – and well, as most of those children in preschool had been five or nearly six years old, I didn't realize that I've been small. Only shortly before my eighth birthday, in September 1979 and when I went to first grade, I realized that I was the oldest, but the smallest. I've been nearly two years older than most of my classmates, but have been more than a head smaller than the next smallest child in my class.

Now, what all of this had to do with God?

One – without God I wouldn't even have survived that pregnancy of my mother's due to excessive alcohol-, nicotine- and only God knows what other drug-misuse, that's for sure.

Two – without God I wouldn't have grown up without several handicaps caused by that same excessive alcohol-, nicotine- and drug-misuse during my mother's pregnancy, and caused by child neglect after my birth until my mother had dumped me at my granny's doormat, even though as a seven-month preemie I would have needed special care.

As a child I've been too small, sure, and I've been a bit too slow, alright … I've been dreaming away time a lot, too, but other than that I've been a healthy child and my marks have always been above average – except of math, but well … *shruggingshoulders* … everyone has to have one subject that's just shit.

And third – God has always been a constant in my grandmother's life, and somehow in mine, too, even though, in later years, there had been times I'd thought He'd left me – today I know that, He never had.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

My grandmother has never visited church, never visited service on Sundays, and she's never gone to the pastor for confessing her sins. She's always dealt with God personally. And she hadn't been reciting prayers over prayers you can find in a prayer-book either. Sure, she's had a chaplet, but that thing had been hanging on the mirror in her bedroom, getting dusty with the years because she'd never used it. She's been talking with God the way she'd been talking with us, with me, with my aunt and uncle, with my cousin or anyone else, and so God's presence had been something absolutely normal for me. It's been nothing holy that you can mention with a whisper only and it has been nothing you had to keep secret either, nothing you had to hide away. She's been talking to God in the middle of the street if she'd thought it necessary, without caring about what passers-by would think of her, and believe me, she'd earned a lot of strange looks for it.

I think, she'd just made a lot of bad experiences with the Catholic Church and its workmen, what had caused her saying "I do believe in God, but not in church and I need no church to talk with our Lord. I can do that in my bedroom or in the bathroom if I so wish and He wouldn't mind."

One bad experience clearly had been, when she'd been pregnant with my mother and the guy she'd been with had left her – after all, how could a good and nice girl get pregnant without being married? And how could she be without a husband after the child had been born, even? I know that a lot of people had turned their backs on her and I know that a lot of them had been family. How many people had pointed their fingers at her? And how many hurtful comments did she have to listen to? I dare not imagine.

However, a lot of those people had been from church or had been churchgoers. Of course she wouldn't think well of them in later years! And well, seeing that my grandmother was the one person I knew as my "mother", the one person I'd learned most from, I'd of course also learned from her that – God was there, always, and caring for us one way or another if we had need, what we often had as my grandmother was no rich person, on the contrary. She used to say that the money she got was too little to live on, and too much to die on – but we didn't need the church for talking to God. And with that knowledge my life was great.

I didn't have a lot of games and toys.

Our young people of today would be very shocked to hear that I had neither a mobile nor a laptop, and not even a Gameboy or a PlayStation – all of these things were invented only decades after I've been a child. My granny had a black-and-white television, and I've grown up with things like the Sesame Street, Bugs Bunny, and the little house on the prairie. Other than that, my granny has read fairy tales to me, and we've played games like 'Sorry' and 'Monopoly'.

However, back then there had been a lot of Americans stationed in Göppingen and they'd started friendships with the German population, they'd started relationships with German women and therefore you can imagine that the "Göppinger population" has been a rather colourful and mixed bunch of people – American families or family members, friends, that wasn't something strange and no one had frowned upon it, it's been a normal thing.

Therefore I've been as fluent in American English as I was in German, and knew where to find the things in the PX as well as in the mom-and-pop-store down the street – I've had a family, I've had friends, and I've been living – and happily so. Until –

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Yes – until …

It was in the beginning of the summer holidays between grade two and three.

I don't really know how old I've been back then, I'd need to calculate it down and I've never been good in math – math is a horror for any linguist I swear, and I've been in a coma during each math lesson. I need ten fingers to count two and three together, just to get a wrong answer anyway – but just in case someone wants to count it down, I haven't started school when I was six years old, but when I was seven, nearly eight years.

However, one day in the beginning of this particular summer holidays my mother stood before my grandmother's door a second time – with the words "I am your mother, and I'm taking you with me." and I had no other choice than going with her, a completely strange woman, a woman I've never ever seen in my life before, and thus moving from Göppingen to Stuttgart and leaving behind everything I knew – my grandmother, my family, and God included.

You might now say that – how could you leave God behind?

But not only had I never had anyone who'd told me who exactly God was, or what he'd done, as God's presence in our lives had been a given that hadn't been discussed, He's been there, period, but also had I never had anyone who'd told me who Jesus was and what he'd done. I didn't know the bible, I didn't know the stories of the bible – I just knew that … there was God and God was good, God was the most important thing in our lives. God was there whenever we were happy and he was there whenever we were sad or in need – in Göppingen, and with my granny. But I had left Göppingen, and my granny seemed a thousand miles away from me back then. Never before had I left Göppingen or my granny, and so of course I'd lost God, because He was there, in Göppingen, with my grandmother – a thousand miles away.

Back then there was no child protective service which would have slowly gotten the families back together until the children could be re-integrated into the families. And back then no one had cared about the family-intern matters either – back then it had been enough to CPS that my mother had divorced her alcoholic husband, had partaken in a withdrawal treatment and had then married again, her new husband being a teacher even, and therefore neither my grandmother nor my aunt or uncle could do anything against it – and within but a few hours, clothes, a few toys and a few books had been packed in boxes and I were sitting in my mother's car, on the way from Göppingen to Stuttgart where she was living in a house together with her new husband – and my siblings.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

I remember that I'd been nervous, that I'd been scared and that I'd been taken away by a completely strange woman which I'd never before had seen, that I hadn't known where I would end up and that I hadn't known what would happen from then on – the only thing I had known was – I had lost my family and was on my way to an entirely new family.

I also remember that my grandmother had taken me to the side for saying good-bye and that she'd said – "you don't need to be scared, she's your mother and she'll love you, just tell her that you love her too and everything will be alright. I'll visit you as soon as I can." A few words and then I'd lost her.

Living with my grandmother had taught me that her advice was always good advice, and so I had followed her suggestion during the journey, even, which I back then had thought it was a trip around the world – and in the car I'd told my mother, an entirely stranger … "I love you" … which I shouldn't have done however. Maybe I'd hoped that she – she was my mother after all – would love me too, that she maybe would tell me that she would love me too if only I told her – what an utterly childish and idiot thought it had been! It had only resulted in the very first trouble I got into with my mother.

I don't really remember what exactly she'd screamed at me, but I know that it had been something along that line – "your grandmother has told you to say such a thing, that's just like her, putting her nose into other people's things!" Of course it had been my grandmother's advice, but only to help me feeling better and back then my mother's accusation of a woman I had loved just hurt. She'd also told me that I couldn't buy her love with a simple "I love you" and that I had to earn her love.

I think I've never earned her love, not in forty-something years.

But I know that this "I love you" had been the last "I love you" I've said to anyone for many, many years – for nearly a lifetime, to be exact.

I remember, that I've been in my mother's car, in the car of a strange person who'd taken me away from my family, driving from Göppingen to – some place called Stuttgart which I didn't know either, and at one point or another I had prayed to God to get me back to my granny – but He hadn't. And in later years He hadn't taken me back to my grandmother either, never mind how much I'd prayed to Him, never mind how much I'd cried, and never mind how bad those years had become – and for me they had been hell. Had I ever wondered about the concept of hell, back then while living with my mother, I'd learned that concept.

My mother didn't believe in God, not in the slightest, and neither did my siblings which lived with us in Stuttgart. My granny, who had God, and who would have been able to answer one question or another, was "a thousand miles" away, in my imagination, and I hadn't seen her again for nearly fifteen years. I'm sure that my mother at least knew the answers to _some_ questions, but whenever I had asked her about God, I got in real trouble with my mother and anyone who knew my mother, knew that trouble always got along with a good beating – so I soon stopped asking questions at all and about God in particular.

Of course I went to religious education at school, and yes, there I finally did hear stories about Adam and Eve, about Moses and about Noah, about Jesus and his disciples – about who God was and what he'd done. But with the years they had become just that – stories. I still did believe in God, don't get me wrong, but for me God had become the God of my granny, the God that lived in Göppingen, the God for the good only, and as I wasn't good – after all, my mother told me ten times each day that I wasn't good and so I had to believe that – God wasn't for me anyway and God wouldn't be a God for me ever.

Somehow I had left my good grandmother and I had left everything that was good behind with her. I had become bad and so it was no wonder that God had stayed behind in Göppingen with my grandmother, it was no wonder that I had lost God, that He wouldn't have any dealing with me. Today I know that you can't lose God if you don't explicitly turn your back on Him, that He'll always hold your hand so that you wouldn't get lost, but back then I hadn't known that, back then, I'd been sure that God had let go of my hand for sure.

Alright, now you could say that – why wouldn't you have asked your teacher at school? If you have visited religious education at school, so why wouldn't you have asked your teacher?

Well – as I have stopped asking questions at home, I have stopped asking questions at school, too. I have become an autodidact learner and whatever knowledge I have acquired, I have learned it myself – sometimes by experience, sometimes by books, sometimes by watching others, sometimes by trial and error – and you better learned quickly in this case as error always got along with a good beating from my mother – and sometimes by completely other means – any means of learning was alright with me but asking questions.

And still … and still there seemed to be God in my life, because never had my mother managed beating me to death, never had she managed keeping me locked up for long enough to die in that damn cellar of hers, and never had she managed destroying me for sure. I'm still alive, and I'm still sane, even though I wouldn't sign the last one, and believe me, there had been several situations in my mother's house which have been close, especially in later years when I had been a teenager.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Well – and so there I was again, this time ripped from my family and thrown into a completely strange family, ripped from a family where very much strictness – but even more harmony and love had ruled and in which I'd been happy – and thrown into a family in which strictness had also ruled – but no harmony, only irascibility, in which no love but hate and anger had ruled, in which violence had been the first topic on the agenda.

I'd been the last of 5 children who came back to my mother. I don't know in what order my siblings came back to my mother, but my two older sisters as well as my older and my younger brother were already in Stuttgart in the house of my mother and stepfather when I arrived there – as the fifth wheel, in the truest sense of the word.

I remember that we'd been sitting at the kitchen table and our mother handed out kinder-eggs – yes, they existed back then already and for all of you who don't know what it is as they are uncommon in the States because it's toy and food in one which isn't allowed in the States, it's a chocolate egg and inside the egg is a yellow thingy with a small toy inside. However, she's had four – one for Elke, one for Gaby, one for Charley and one for Andy. And then there was an – "oh, Claudia is here, I'm so sorry, but there's none left for you."

It's been kinder-eggs, it's been chocolate bars, it's been yoghurt, it's been cookies, it's been candies, or it's been anything else – never mind what it was, it was always one less, for years, and my common answer was just – "never mind, I don't care, I don't like kinder-eggs anyway." – chocolate bars, yoghurt, candies, cookies … never mind what … I had learned to not like it because I wouldn't get it anyway …

Well – one, I'd soon learned that crying wouldn't help me – second, I'd learned that a scene only led to a beating – third, it wouldn't change anything anyway – and forth – yes, what a stupid thought, but, maybe – just maybe – my mother would love me if only I were patient enough, if only I were obedient enough, if only I were good enough, if only I were – well, if only I were … just what? I hadn't known it when I'd been a child, and I still don't know it to this day.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

What I also had learned very quickly was – if my mother said jump, then you better jumped. You didn't ask why. You didn't ask for the height either – but you jumped, and you better jumped as high as possible. Figuratively only, of course, it's a saying here in Germany.

She'd taught me during this first summer holidays how to cook – and that had been one of my duties from then on – besides of doing the dishes, cleaning the floors and doing the laundry – not to mention cleaning the kitchen and the bathroom. And woe betide me had the food gotten burned or the garbage forgotten to be taken out.

I remember that she stood before me one time, asking me why I hadn't taken the garbage out – and each time I told her that I had just forgotten to take it out – I'd gotten a slap in the face. What do you answer to such a question if you're not allowed to say that you have forgotten it? And if you know that it is just the beginning, that the afternoon could be very long and that it would only get worse? I'd stopped saying anything at one time. After all, I didn't want another slap in the face – instead I'd got a good beating for it because I'd refused to answer her.

My mother used to sit at the sofa with a very strange activity – she'd been reading Jerry Cotton, John Sinclair, and other such shlock, and while she'd been reading she'd marked each and every vocal in the thing with a pencil. I don't know why she'd done that, I think, no one knows why she'd done that, but this is what I remember when I think of her – sitting at the sofa, reading and making circles around all the vocals – but well, she had enough children for working and only one thing she'd done herself – namely handing out the beatings, and she'd been good at this.

She'd always started with her hands, had then gone over to taking the next best thing that was in reach – and she hadn't cared about what this thing could do or what injuries the thing could cause, I think, she'd been just too angry to think clearly in such moments – and she'd gone over to using her feet in the end when we were laying on the floor.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Today, I know that my two sisters didn't have the best life in her household either – but back then I often had thought how unfair all of it had been. My mother had always had drawers where she put us in – again, only figuratively, of course.

Elke had always been the oldest and the intelligent one. She'd been to the high school and therefore it had been more important for her to care about her school than doing work in the house – today I know that she'd had her work outside in the garden – not to mention that, as a child she'd had work and responsibility enough for an entire life, and that as a youth she'd been burying herself in learning so that she didn't have to see our mother – and maybe so that she didn't have enough time to think, because today, years later, I know that she's suffering deep depression because she has too much time to think.

Gaby has always been the pretty one, the beauty. She didn't have to be intelligent and she'd been allowed to get bad marks. She'd been a pretty dolly-bird and a pretty dolly-bird didn't need to have anything in her head and therefore she'd gotten a lot of clothes and make-up, beauty articles. Today I know that Gaby had never wanted all of that, that she would have liked it more if someone had cared about her dyslexia, if someone had helped her with learning and that her – playing the beauty, had only been so that no one knew how much she was crying in her heart.

Charley has always been the charming one – not to mention a boy and of course a boy didn't have to do housework. He didn't even have to clean his room. I have never understood why Charley had always been her beloved one, and neither do I understand why he's still her beloved one – but well, that's one of the things I'll never understand but I think it isn't my place to understand it. It's just like this, and it always has been – Charley had done one thing or another, and upon my mother starting to give him a lecture he had just smiled at her and the world was alright. Sometimes I think, maybe I haven't smiled enough at her? On the other hand – I would have been stupid had I not tried his tactic also, and I know that I'm not stupid, and so I'm sure that I did and that it just hadn't worked for me as it had for him.

After all, there are many things of my youth which I have – and successfully so – pushed away as far as possible, which I have buried as deeply as possible and I don't really dare to dig deeper than I absolutely have to, because I know that nothing good can lay down there, I'm not a coroner, and I need to examine neither bodies nor things.

Well, and then there was of course Andy. Andy has been the little one – and that was a very comfortable place – but not as comfortable a place as his older brother held. It's been strange, he's been the little one and a boy too – but anyway he'd had to help me with the dishes. I had to wash them and my little brother had to dry them. Dunno why he had this task, but well – for me it meant that it was one duty less and at least it was a few minutes more each day which I had left for other chores to finish before the evening.

However, today I remember that Andy has been beaten just as well, and I know that nothing what he'd done had been good enough in our mother's eyes, I remember that he'd had the same fears as did I, and I remember nights during which he'd been laying in bed, rocking back and forth while he'd been unable to sleep, and then our mother came into the room, telling him that he either stopped his rocking, or he'd have to sleep in the bathtub. Today I know that he, most of all, had felt being left alone by his mother when she moved out – even though my mother had never cared about his nightmares and about his fears, not once, even though he'd been the little one.

And me –

Uhm – wait … just wait a moment! Me?

It's been like always and there hadn't been a drawer left for me – I've simply been nothing. I haven't been smart, I haven't been pretty, I haven't been charming and I haven't been the little one. I haven't been the oldest either – I've been – just nothing. I didn't have a place and I didn't have a drawer, I didn't have a label. Maybe that's been a good thing though, because maybe that's the reason as to why I have never followed one crowd or another – I've always been alone, always followed my own direction and often even going against the tide, never mind what.

If I want to sit on a table – then I do it, if I want to wear black – then I do it, if I want to sit – and Indian style so – on the counter in _'the other shop'_ where I am working three times a week, then I just do it. If I have to say something to someone, then I do it, without sugar-coating it and I won't ever lie to anyone just to spare this one's feeling. I don't care about what people think of me, about what people say about me behind my back, because I have nothing to lose. Alright, I'm sure that I'd be very unhappy would they call me nice or something similar, because _I am not_ nice, but except of that, I don't care.

I've always remained me – dark, tough and cold, unmoved by anything the world threw at my feet. Or at least that was the picture that I've presented the world with – and sometimes, often, still do. But what I want to say with that simply is – I am me, and I do not change for the sake of the people around me. I have learned to keep true to myself, and people either take me the way I am or they leave it, but I won't play a role just to fit into one drawer or another.

Just one example – for my baptism people said "you need to wear white, that's important, it's a symbol for your sins being washed away". Right. I do agree on the symbolic of it. But I have thought over it for weeks, and weeks, and weeks, and I have to admit that I've been worried about it. Because I don't like white, white is the worst – _colour_ – existent, it isn't a colour even! How can people wear plain white? You know what I did? In the end I've been wearing my jeans, my trainers and my usual black t-shirt. Because had I worn anything else, then it wouldn't have been me, then I would have worn a mask, I would have played a role and that would have been the wrong thing – to give myself over to God with playing a role.

A good thing indeed then, that there hadn't been a drawer left for me, in my mother's cupboard.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

My love for the English language – even though it might not be perfect and even though I may annoy people with it …

Well, I don't really know what had been – or still is – my mother's problem and I don't think that I have the right to speculate. But fact is – my mother hates my aunt and my uncle so very much, she would be ready to do nearly everything to hurt them or anyone else who'd been loved by them. Maybe because she'd had to share my grandmother's love when my aunt was born twelve years after her, maybe because my aunt had been happy in her marriage later while my mother hadn't been happy in her own first marriage, maybe because my uncle is an American and not German, I don't know. But unfortunately I'd been one of those who'd been loved by my aunt and uncle, and so the first thing she'd done after she'd taken me to her home was – she forbade any kind of English things, language, readings, contacts, whatever. If it was red/white/blue then it was bad, if it had stars and stripes – then it was bad – if it sounded English or she couldn't understand it – then it was bad. If it was written in English – then it was bad. If it was Hamburger or Hot Dogs – then it was bad. You could continue the list endlessly, she always found enough things to blame me for/with, just because it was one way or another English, American, or had to do with my aunt and uncle.

It wasn't that I couldn't speak German, I could, but seeing that English is a language easier to learn and speak than is German, and seeing that I've been used to use both languages, well, it was hard for me to stop using English from one day to the other, from one moment to the other, actually. I don't think that I would have had a problem with speaking German, which was necessary anyway as my mother didn't understand the English language to begin with – but the fact that she'd forbidden it entirely, it hurt me, and it scared me. For me it was as if she had taken a part of my person away, as if she had eliminated part of my past – one part of many others which she'd eliminated, and today I think that a good portion of the beatings I had gotten over the years had just been because there had been one or another English word or even comment which had just slipped my tongue accidentally, something that – even today – scares me to death, and I know that whenever I have the chance to speak English, what I really love, do not take me wrong, I need days until I lose my fears, until I am able to move my tongue correctly around the words.

Well, it hadn't gotten any easier the moment I visited fifth grade and brought home better marks in English than in German and I'm sure that my mother would have taken me out of English lessons had they not been required subjects back then already – because in her opinion, English lessons had been bad … and unnecessary anyway.

I think, at one point or another I'd started to think English instead of German, even though I'm sure that back then it must have been really chaotically in my mind, because – not only was it something forbidden I've feared, knowing that my mother best never learned of it or I wouldn't survive it, but also, if you don't practice a language actively, then you'll forget a lot of it over time and maybe that's the reason as to why now, years later, my English is a strange mixture of American English, British English, school English, slang, and Middle English – not to be mistaken with Old English. But well, it's been the only thing which she couldn't take away. She'd been able to take away the clothes I'd gotten from my grandmother and from my aunt and to replace them with new ones, and she'd been able to take away the few toys and books and to replace them with new ones, and she even could forbid me to see my family, she could destroy pictures of me with my family which my grandmother had packed too – and yes, there are really only three or four pictures of my childhood left which my grandmother had kept when I have left her house … in other words, she could take away all my past, all that had to do with my real family, but she couldn't take away my thoughts.

And therefore – well, that's the reason as to why the English language is so very important to me – because it's the only thing left, the only thing that is left from my past, from my childhood, from my family, whatever, because there's nothing else …

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Of course my grandmother and my aunt, too, had tried to visit me over and over again, Göppingen and Stuttgart weren't – and still isn't, of course – too far away from each other after all, forty-five minutes with the train only, and later when we'd moved to Bochingen then my aunt even came to visit the Black Forest in the attempt to visit me or to at least see me.

I don't know why my mother always had forbidden any contact, had forbidden my aunt and grandmother to see me, not once in all those years, but I only can guess that she'd not only feared my aunt – or my grandmother – could find any marks from beatings but that she also wanted to hurt my aunt too.

However, she'd always locked me away in the cellar when my aunt or my grandmother was to visit, telling them that I visited a friend for the weekend, and I know that I'd often been in the cellar, most likely even more often than there having been visits from my aunt or grandmother, and most likely just because my mother _could_ lock me up there. There had been a lot of things she'd done, just because she _could_.

I remember that one day I'd been crying in the car because of it. My mother had told me to help her with shopping – never a pleasant experience, believe me, and while other kids loved it, to go shopping with their parents, we always feared it. However, we'd been driving from Bochingen to Oberndorf and I think I must have known that my aunt had been visiting shortly before and so I'd been crying because of it as I really missed them, my aunt and my uncle, and my grandmother – and my mother had told me that "you stop this crying right now or I'll throw you out of the moving car."

Of course it had been a ridiculous statement, today I know that. It wouldn't have been even possible because she would have had to stop the car anyway to open the passenger door – but as a child I hadn't thought along this line and as a child such nonsense statements were just horror. The threat that she'd keep me locked up in the cellar forever – ridiculous, because in Germany school attendance is required by law and so she couldn't have locked me away forever. But again, as a child I hadn't thought along this line while at the same time I knew very well what she was capable of.

She'd had a whip hanging on the wall in the dining room – for decoration only, of course – but over the years it didn't remain a decoration and neither a threat of hers to use the thing but she'd actually done it. The threat that she'd beat the hell out of us if we told people private things – one time I'd passed out at school because I'd been too tired and because I'd had to little food, I guess, and the school called for an ambulance, of course they did, and I've ended up in hospital – it's been one of the worst beatings I ever got afterwards because my mother said I'd done that deliberately just to give her a bad reputation.

Not that it had been the first time that I'd had the opportunity to look at the floor from a closer point of view, it happened from time to time, especially during work at home when I didn't have the chance to walk a few steps or to move otherwise but had to stand in one place for hours. Whatever, I think, I'd quickly learned that a threat of hers _could_ come true sooner than we liked.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

I think, I'd soon changed and I'd learned to avoid my mother as best as possible – or to keep silent in her presence. At one time or another I seem to have thrown this particular person together with all other persons in one large pot, have stirred and the outcome was a very peaceful and calm school-time, very silent and human-avoiding too.

My place had been the backmost table by the wall with the windows – for years and I've never ever accepted any other student at this particular table.

One time, at the beginning of a new school year, dunno when exactly it had been, there had been a new girl in the class and she'd actually come towards me and then sat down at the table beside me – and without asking even! Even though everyone knew to better keep away from _my_ desk! I'd been so shocked – and so angry about it, knowing that I wouldn't be able to bear it having anyone so close, I'd just stared at her. I hadn't said anything, why should I have done – staring at people angrily and coldly was enough, I knew, and really, just a few minutes later she'd taken her schoolbag and had left my table to sit at the other side of the classroom, as far away as possible – well, I'd been satisfied and she'd never ever again dared to come close or even talk to me, and so I had again ensured my freedom and my reputation.

I've never had friends – because I've never wanted friends.

I think, I could have had some, I remember that there had been one or another who tried to approach me once in a while, maybe because I'd been a miracle to them with my stillness and my seriousness, maybe because I've been really good in swearing and cursing in English at other times and they thought it was _"cool"_ … I don't know, and I didn't care either, but I've always driven them off right away, never accepting any other people in my life, neither students nor teachers and I think they'd gotten used to it with time. I think, sometime from grade seven on I even could have been sleeping back there in the last row, laying with my arms and head all over the table, visibly and openly sleeping – and no one would have cared about it. And again I've been satisfied with it, because that meant – I've had my peace. No idiot students who annoyed me with their presence, no idiot teachers who annoyed me with their stupid questions – I think, I did love school very much, because that was the only place where I had peace, where I didn't need to be scared, where I didn't got beaten and where I didn't got screamed at – not to mention where I could rest, physically as well as mentally.

Because at the same time my teachers knew very well that – sleeping or not – I got good marks, or at least marks above average – except for math, of course, just wanted to mention it. One time my older sister had to learn "John Maynard" and for learning it by heart she recited it over and over again, and in the process of listening to her reciting the poem, I'd learned it too. Grade seven or eight it was our part to learn the poem by heart and the moment our teacher presented us with the news there could be heard a small whisper coming from the back of the classroom, a whisper that said: _"John Maynard, who is John Maynard? John Maynard was our helmsman true. To solid land he carried us through. He saved our lives, our noble king. He died for us; his praise we sing. John Maynard. From Detroit to Buffalo, as mist sprays her bow like flakes of snow, over Lake Erie the "Swallow" takes flight and every heart is joyful and light. In the dusk, the passengers all can already make out the dim landfall, and approaching John Maynard, their hearts free of care, they ask of their helmsman, are we almost there? He looks around and toward the shore: still 30 minutes ... a half hour more ..."_

It's been a funny situation, for me, because never before had the classroom been so void of sounds, and even the teacher – who should have known me by then – just stared. Well, maybe because it's been one of the very rare moments that I've said anything at all, because generally I've just ignored any questions a teacher might have asked of me, glaring at them accusingly for their daring of asking any question of me at all.

On the other hand, never mind my behaviour towards the teachers, they always knew that I'd never lie to them.

We've had a student in class who was – well, really mentally disabled, I guess.

He'd often chewed on things, preferably on small pieces of candles. I still don't know why he did that, I've never asked, but he did, and he was often laughed at. I ignored him, because I wasn't stupid enough to go and talk to him, just to get hurt by him later on. I didn't fear my class, they couldn't hurt me as I didn't care about them, but if I started caring about any particular person, just because that person was bullied by others, that person could hurt me … nope, doing such a thing would have been plain stupid, and I wasn't stupid. So, I ignored him, and I ignored my class bullying him.

But one day everyone brought small pieces of candles, and during the break, when the teacher had left the classroom, they started smearing the wax all over the blackboard. I'm sure you can imagine that the blackboard was destroyed, you couldn't write on it anymore, and when the teacher came back, noticed the mess, he of course asked who'd done that – and the entire class had pointed with their fingers at that student who used to chew on candle pieces.

I don't really know what had made our teacher suspicious, maybe the little fact that he'd thought that one person couldn't have done that mess, I'm not sure, and neither do I know why he'd looked over at me, questioningly, because never before had we had a situation such as this, but he did, and as much as I've always stayed out of things, I've shook my head, because I knew that he hadn't done it – and the strange thing, our teacher had believed me rather than the rest of the class.

And don't worry, I haven't gotten into trouble with my class, because for them I've still been untouchable, not only because of my daring behaviour even towards out teachers, but also because there's never been anything they could have hurt me with, as I never cared about anything at all.

Well, the only teacher who'd tried to change things had been my class teacher from eighth and ninth grade – and I think he was even close to managing. I remember that we had to do a presentation and I had the subject Japan. I'd written the presentation, I'd drawn maps of Japan, and I'd even taken a look at the language, and then I'd handed it in to my teacher before the break – the conversation that had followed had been, kind of funny, or it would have been kind of funny had it not been another one of the really rare occasions where I had talked at all.

It was like …

 **Teacher:** "There's no need to hand it in right now, you'll need to present it during the next lesson."

 **Me:** *shruggingshoulders* … *shakinghead*

 **Teacher:** "A presentation needs to be presented, that's why it is a presentation."

 **Me:** *liftingeyebrow* "nope."

 **Teacher:** "Now, you keep this and present it next lesson."

 **Me:** *scowling* "nope."

 **Teacher:** "You must."

 **Me:** *scowlingevenmore* "nope."

 **Teacher:** "If you don't present it, then this will be a failure."

 **Me:** *shruggingshoulders* "so what?"

 **Teacher:** *gettingangryabit* "You'll present it, period!"

 **Me:** *evenmoreangry* "You call me up there – and I'll pack my things and leave. I won't present the thing, you can turn upside down to perform a headstand and waggle your feet, I don't care."

Well, of course I'd been the very first one after the break whom our class teacher called up to the front for the presentation – I should have known. I've looked at him for a moment, sighing, and then I've packed my things, and left the classroom without a word, but I'm sure that he knew my thoughts at that moment, namely _'I told you so'_.

I'd gone to the park and there I smoked a cigarette – yes, I'd been smoking already back then in eighth grade – but the strange thing? It was 45 minutes later when the lesson had ended. I was still sitting at the park because going home early? Despite everything I wasn't suicidal after all. Well, and then my class teacher had appeared, sat down beside me and lit a cigarette himself. He was the very first person I allowed to sit down beside me and he was the very first person I talked to after years of – not muteness, but talking as little as possible and often there were days in rows during which I hadn't said one single word as I hadn't felt the need for talking. However, today I think that – maybe he could have done something, most likely he'd even been ready to bring in child protective service – and maybe I would have been ready to accept it, and to tell him – or them – more than I'd told him during these thirty minutes while I was waiting for the bus – just to being able to leave my "family".

But then everything changed and I couldn't afford such a thing anymore.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Today I don't really remember if it was at the end of eighth grade or at the beginning of ninth grade, I've pushed many things away for years and it's not easy to get everything in an order now without digging more than I need to, because sometimes I think there are things I don't need to know, and I don't want to know either.

However, my mother moved out.

She'd been meeting someone for months already, she'd started to work in his embroidery and for a few months we'd even had one of those 12-headed embroidery machines in our garage. But well, of course not our mother had done the home work, but we – my siblings and I, added to our regular duties of course.

I remember that she'd promised us 10 pennies for each finished towel – that would have been an hourly wage of about 60 pennies and we've been very happy about it because so far we'd never gotten anything for the work we'd done. I should have, however, known that it was wishful thinking only, because of course we hadn't seen just one penny of it and somehow I think – I hadn't really counted on it either. But for a moment it had been a good thought anyway, especially in retrospect.

Never mind – my mother and this guy had come closer and they'd started a relationship, my mother moved out and into a flat together with him – and fortunately they had started their own embroidery so that the guy could leave the old one to his wife – fortunately because therefore they had needed the embroidery machine from our garage and so the added work went bye bye – I have been so very unhappy about it! … *huff* … not really, on the contrary …

Whatever, I'd stayed at home together with my little brother, my stepfather, and the mother of my stepfather. Both of my older sisters were already married and had left the house long ago and my older brother had started a carrier at the federal armed forces.

I was happy about it, that my mother had moved out, even though it had gotten rather difficult then. But she was gone, she was gone and she couldn't scream at me anymore, she couldn't tell me how worthless I was anymore, how insufficient and how disappointing, and she couldn't beat me anymore. I had finally found some peace.

The problem?

Well, she'd come once a week – not that she would have entered the house – and not that I would have been unhappy about it that she hadn't entered the house – no. the problem was, she'd brought one basket with food each week which she put into the downstairs corridor – and this basket with food needed to last for a week – for my little brother, for my stepfather who suffered from Diabetes and was sitting in a wheelchair with only one leg left in the small granny-flat downstairs, and for the mother of my stepfather, a diabetic too and _she_ didn't even manage leaving her bed anymore – if she really couldn't or wouldn't, I don't know, but really? I can understand if she just hadn't wanted to leave her bed anymore. I've often been at this point too, after all.

Well – so there wasn't much room when it came to food and honestly, it's been a mission impossible to divide portions so that at the end of the week there would be any food left – not to mention so that it would last until then even, and often I went to bed or school hungry as I knew – as a diabetic my stepfather and my step-grandmother needed food first, and three times a day even, and I also knew that my little brother needed something to eat before _I_ did, and with the months it only grew worse – so, all in all I think we have just existed, not really lived in that house – because with time, there hadn't been anything left for living. Food, heating, power – name it, and we didn't have it.

Our mother soon had stopped paying any bills and my stepfather – well, he had sat in his wheelchair all day long, down there in his granny flat, and he had been too ill and too dependent on his beer bottle to really manage anything at all and if I have to be honest then I have to say that he'd never managed anything from the beginning on. It had always been my mother who had paid the bills and who'd gone shopping – with his money, but she'd done it. I think, he hadn't left the house for years already, when my mother had moved out and I had to care for him in the end, too.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Not that I would have hated him, and surely not that I would have feared him the way I have feared my mother, on the contrary. Today I have a lot of respect for this man. He'd married a woman who'd just made a withdrawal treatment, who had five children scattered all over the place in BW, and he not only had encouraged her to get her children back but he'd also bought her a house so that this woman and her children had a roof over their heads. Not to mention that he'd fed her and her children, children which weren't his. He'd never beaten us, not once, and he'd never screamed at us either. Maybe he'd thought that – with their mother they're in enough trouble as it is, there's no need to get them into more trouble even.

On the other hand – he'd never done anything against it either. And back then, when I was a child, I guess I'd blamed him for it, because he hadn't cared, at least I'd thought he hadn't cared, and at least in my heart I have blamed him, because never would I have accused him openly, but in my heart I have blamed him.

And he was a strange man, too.

I think, if I have shared ten sentences with him during all those years I have lived with my mother and him – then it's been a lot. Alright, that was exaggerated – but it's surely never been more than a hundred sentences during all those years! However, it hadn't only been because of me, seeing that I've rarely spoken to anyone at all, but because of him too, because my siblings hadn't had much more contact with him either. Maybe it hadn't been as extremely little contact as it had been with me, seeing that I'd had no contact with anyone, but it had been similar. I think, Elke, the oldest of us, she'd had the deepest relationship with him and even that was – more than just reserved.

One of the clearest memories I have of him is, that one day my homework had been to draw a map in my geography exercise book and my mother hadn't been at home – and so I'd shown him the exercise book with my homework – the first time that I'd shown my homework to him instead of my mother who'd normally demanded to see them, even though it would have been easier for her leaving it to him as he'd been a teacher to begin with. He'd been able dealing with our homework.

Sometimes I think that she'd done so, just to make sure that she had another reason to beat us and surely not because it was important to her that we'd done our homework. I don't know what I'd been more scared of – showing her my homework, because she always found something she didn't like, or being late in showing her, which she didn't like either – what often resulted in me standing in front of the living-room door, with my exercise book in my hands and rooted to the spot, knowing that I should hurry up with going in there but being unable to actually move and to really enter the living-room, trying to delay the upcoming beating for just a second, and then for another second, and then for just one second more …

However, back then, this one time, my stepfather had taken the exercise book, had studied the map I had drawn, and he'd really been interested. Wordlessly he'd started to skim through the pages, to look at older works and in the end I think he'd been really happy – and me too, because he'd said he wished all his students had done such a good work than this one had been, and because it was the first time (and regrettably the last time too) that I'd gotten any praise from one of my parents. I've never forgotten that one moment and whenever I think of my step-father, then I remember this particular incident.

Today I think that he was just as scared of my mother as we were, even though she's never beaten him. I think, she just could hurt him with her words as much as she hurt us – and today I'd wish to see him one more time and to tell him how much respect I have for him, and to thank him for what he'd done for us.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

It must have been at the end of grade nine, and therefore I had to be about sixteen years old, when I realized that, after several months of caring for my stepfather, his mother and my younger brother, while having none to nothing of anything, I had reached the end of my rope, mentally as well as physically.

During ninth grade and during my exams, I'd fought to somehow feed the remainder of my "family" with one basket of food per week – in vain.

A year during which I myself didn't have much food and I don't know how I would have survived had I not had the subject "cooking" at school – because when I think back at that time, today, then I think that these had sometimes been the only times I've had a somewhat decent meal myself and after this year I've been ready to simply disregard the responsibility I had towards my family, because I haven't been able to carry out that responsibility any longer. Maybe I was too tired, maybe too hungry, maybe I just hadn't cared anymore, I don't know which – maybe all of it.

In the end I contacted my oldest sister, told her that she had to look for a solution, that I'd leave, and then I just moved out of the house and have left my family behind.

Not that it had been too much better _then_.

I had started Junior High in Oberndorf while living on the streets – until October or November, and then it was clear that I either had to go back home, what wouldn't be any better as they didn't have power or heat anyway, or that I had to look for a room, or a small apartment to live in. In other words – my school? Forget it, because I needed to work so that I had money to pay the rent for the room I lived in and to buy food – but at least I _had_ food, and so I'd taken any job I could get.

The problem was that at this time I was so deep down the road of an eating disorder – and a sleeping disorder – that the food I had at home didn't really help. Not that I've suffered from anorexia or bulimia – surely not. I've just always _forgotten_ to eat, sometimes for days, because I wasn't used to regular meals and most likely I was far beyond the point where I really felt hunger. A problem I'm still suffering from, I have to admit, even though it's getting better.

However, I have to admit that today, many years later, I am buying – and cooking – too much, but somehow I still fear that there could be too little food at home, that anyone in my house, especially my children, might go to bed hungry the way we have, and therefore, I'm buying too much, already getting nervous if my stocks won't last for a month at least, because I'm always scared that my children could go to bed hungry the way we have.

It's gotten better with the years, seeing that I'm 41 now – at least I think I'm 41 – but joke aside – I have a different life-story than my oldest sister has, but anyway I can say that just like her, I had enough pain, fear, work and responsibility for a lifetime and I'm not surprised that I am the way I am, even though it's getting better the more time passes.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

During the years after I have left home, I think I have deepened my misanthropy even and I didn't leave the house if I didn't really have to – except for work and except to buy one thing or another – for me, people had become the worst creatures on this earth – the only animals which could destroy themselves, gruesome animals which are deadhearted and able to do the most horrible things imaginable towards each other. And so I've started avoiding people even more than I've done in my youth, except for one friend I've had for years – until I've met my husband.

Of course there hadn't been too many changes in the beginning.

I've left the house a bit more – if my husband, who hadn't been my husband back then – was with me.

I've started to speak to others – if he was with me.

And I've gone to one pub or another – if he was with me.

Except of that – well, there hadn't been too many changes in the beginning. We've married, but I've always stayed at home with the children – and happily so. And surely not just out of the feeling for responsibility towards my children but rather because – why should I have gone out there and handle annoying, stupid, and depraved people? And why should I do this to other people, having to handle me? It's been better that way, because that way I wasn't annoyed at the people out there, and the people out there weren't annoyed at me either.

However, why my husband had married me – and had then stayed with me despite all my failures and despite all my inadequacies, I don't know – but I think it's like it's written in the bible – one man, one woman, one lifetime. A man will leave his parents to take a woman and they will become one – a unity, and that's what we became with time, a unity, in good times and in bad times, and we've proven it because – bad times have been very present for many, many years – until, let me say, three or four years ago.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

And I don't speak of – "not so good times" – but of really bad times.

"I love you" – had been a sentences I'd said to my mother many years ago when she'd taken me from my family – and it's been one of the last sentences I've said at all without being requested to speak while I've often had times when I've just ignored such requests – it depended on the person who requested speech – whatever reason for should I have said anything after all? Whatever reason for should I have explained anything? Or asked anything?

There was no need to explain anything at all, to no one, nothing, and there was no need to ask for help, because help wouldn't be given anyway, and because I knew that people better never learned of my domestic situation, that I better never told anyone of my home-life if I wished to get out of it alive, one way or another … and so, the only request I've never ignored had been the request of my mother, because one didn't ignore any request she made, never mind what kind of request it was. But except for that? I've soon become in the truest sense of the word – still, because if she didn't hear you, she might just as well forget about you, and because if she didn't see you, she might just as well forget about you.

Maybe that's been the reason as to why I wasn't shocked when one day I wasn't able to speak anymore at all, even though it lasted for several months, and even though none of us knew what it was.

I think – any other man would have said – "alright, now you've lost it and you can go and jump in the lake but I won't have it anymore". I think, Elsa with her view of men – _'if you know one, then you know all'_ – could learn something from my husband if she weren't a fictive person from one of my stories, some of you might know her.

However, I myself hadn't thought too much about it when from one moment to the other I haven't been able to speak anymore – just another failure, nothing new here just another disappointment. But my husband never left me, never mind all the months of written conversation from my part, and never mind how often this happened afterwards, the longest relapse being one and a half years of mutism without a break.

But well – that isn't so important.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Important is – as strange as it is, but I seem to be important to God or he wouldn't put up with all the work he has to do with me, all the times during which he's protectively holding his hands over me and all the years during which he's had his hands below me to carry me, too. He really has to be very, _very_ patient with me – and all of that just because he has a plan for me?

Well, there had been one point or another when I had started reading the bible because I'd wanted answers, finally.

In my youth, I had to do so secretly so that my mother wouldn't see, and it had been a good thing that she'd never made our beds, because therefore beneath my pillow had been one of the safest places within the entire house – but all that I'd found in there had been that God was a God that easily punished and a God that punished harshly, unfairly even, and especially, unjustified, and with my teenage sense of justice, I'd gotten angry about it.

Just one example that had shocked me as a young teenager – God had killed all mankind except for Noah and his family. All mankind on earth, all of his creation destroyed within a moment of anger, and for me God had become like my mother was. One moment of anger and the punishment for forgetting to turn on the laundry machine, or for forgetting to get out the garbage, wasn't simply being grounded for the day, or a TV ban for the remainder of the week for all I cared, but a slap in the face at the best, and a beating that would draw blood or maybe even break bones at the worst – an unjustified punishment, just because one moment of anger, and just because to show her power, just because she could do that. Neither did I think it fair, nor did I think it logical, and now I had learned that God, that one God I had prayed to, to get me back to my grandmother, the one God that hadn't helped me with my mother, that He had done the same, just to show His power? Just because He could do it?

I've been disappointed, and I've been scared, and I've been angry.

Well – one of the mistakes I had made back then, when I was a teenager, was that I had only picked the bad things from the bible, that I'd been looking for the bad things, even, because I had learned the bad things from my mother, because I wasn't able to look for the good things anymore. And another mistake I had made was that I hadn't regarded the little fact that maybe God had been watching the wickedness of mankind for many hundreds of years already, that maybe he'd shown enough patience already, that maybe God had been so very angry by then, so very disappointed already, that he couldn't have acted differently.

And as I had no one whom I could've asked for help, to explain things, no one whom I could've asked questions without risking trouble – of course this bible-reading turned out shit.

Several years later, when I was older, much older, actually I've read the bible again, and I've done so with different eyes.

I guess I have started praying again when I had left my mother's house. Not praying like we've "learned" to pray back then in religious education at school, reciting a few words from a prayer book which you either read or have learned by rote, but praying like my grandmother had done, simply talking with God. I have started telling Him things, how I felt, what I liked, what I disliked, what I considered as real shit, how much He had disappointed me, what I'd done that day or what I'd planned for the next day – anything that came to my mind, but always there had been a part I had to thank Him for, too – namely that in the end, never mind what, He seemed to have been there, keeping me alive, keeping me sane, keeping His hands over me.

Never mind all the beatings I'd gotten over the years, and never mind how often I'd thought that this time she wouldn't stop, that this time surely she'd beat me to death, she'd always stopped before that could happen. Blood being drawn, bones being broken, and the fear of dying was all that ever happened.

Never mind how long my mother had kept me in the cellar, and never mind how often I'd felt that I couldn't bear it anymore, that surely I'd go insane one day, that surely I'd die down there, alone and without anyone finding me, without anyone caring, I always had been out of it before really bad things had happened.

And never mind how hungry I had been at some times, later, after my mother had left our household to live with another guy, leaving back my drunken and disabled step-father, his old mother and my younger brother, without money, without heat and without power, never mind how many days I had gone without anything edible – there had always been one person or another who'd given me something. There had been a teacher who'd placed a box with a sandwich or an apple at my table while passing, wordlessly and without even looking at me, there had been the subject "cooking" once a week where the teacher always had some leftovers she'd packed for me and my brother, and later, when I ended up on the streets until I had a small apartment after I had run away finally, there had always been one or another skyscraper with an open door warranting a night in the stairwell during fall, and I have to thank God for all those small occasions, because never mind what, He's been there to keep me alive, over and over again.

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In later years, I've met my husband, and somehow we've had the same position. He did believe in God, but not in church.

It wasn't that I had made bad experience when it came to the church, surely not, because actually – I've made no experiences at all. It just was that – where had they been when my grandmother had needed them while being pregnant with my mother? Where had they been when my aunt had needed them while suffering under the cruelty of her older sister? Where had they been all those times when I had needed them? Nope – church or her workmen never were there if people needed them and so why should _I_ care about them?

My grandmother, my aunt, and I myself, too, we were used to caring for ourselves, and I had learned caring for myself from a very young age, even – so, why should I now start trusting in any kind of church? Why should I now start depending on them? That would have been stupid as they wouldn't have been there in the end anyway.

Several years followed during which we've prayed, talked with God, during which we've read in the bible – not at a daily basis, and surely not particularly together, but over and over again we did, and every now and then we've told each other what great story we've found in the bible, and every now and then we've discussed what we've read in the bible – we've been looking for more, but going to church or service? Surely not!

Our son visited the Royal Rangers, went to camps, went to their meetings on Friday evenings, and at one point or another he started visiting service on Sundays. The church he went to was situated in the neighbouring small village and he easily could go there by his bike, it took him a few minutes only and there even was a bikeway.

"Won't you come, too, mum?" He'd often asked. "It isn't as if you wouldn't believe in God, after all – so, won't you come, too?"

"I do believe in God, yes, but not in church." I'd always answered. "You go there if you're happy there and if it's the right thing to do for you, I don't mind, really, but don't ask me, son."

"But that's no church you might imagine, mom, just try it and come." He used to say, because he wouldn't be my son if he weren't stubborn and would give in easily.

"Nope, son, you go, but I won't, period." Had been my answer each time – if only I had listened to him back then already.

Well, similar conversations went on for several years, until – there came the day he told me that he'd get baptized.

"You'll come, won't you?" He'd asked. "You'll come to see me being baptized?"

"Of course I'll come." I'd answered, sighing, because never mind my view of church, of course I'd visit when my son got baptized, that was out of question, of course, even though I didn't like the thought of setting one single foot into any kind of church.

Now you must know that our church is a free evangelical church, not really looking like a church, but it is a church anyway … but the strange thing was – the moment I entered, I immediately knew that I had entered my home. A strange thing if you consider that I had barely left the house before that, that I had hated human beings with all my heart and a strange thing if you consider that I'd surely had never planned to go to any kind of church in the first place. I have been a bit confused, I have to admit.

Had it been for me, I would have mailed the grocery, mailing them my shopping-list and telling them to place everything before my door, and that I'd transfer the money – just one example, and now I felt being at home in … that church?

I was startled by that thought – and I was startled by the amount of people in there, too. Too many people for my liking, while at the same time I knew that I didn't hate them – whatever reason for, they were human beings, after all, and most of them were strangers, no less, but I didn't hate them, and somehow _that_ scared the hell out of me – maybe even in the truest sense of the words, I don't know.

However, at ten o'clock, and after everyone had found a seat, the worship band had started playing and I'd thought – whoa, good, at least they have acceptable music and not that typical church-tootling. But then people started lifting their hands and I thought – alright … they're all a bottle short of a six-pack, a pound short of a penny, one taco short of a Mexican meal … really! They'd all lost their marbles, had a bat in the belfry, and all I could think of was – just let me out of here! Please!

Well, after that – and after I'd survived it – the sermon had started and suddenly I'd known that _that_ was the correct thing. I don't even know the subject of the sermon anymore, but I knew that it was the only correct thing, and I knew that I had to come again – the strangest day in my life, so many different perceptions within just a two-hour time range, but anyway I knew that I had to come again.

Well – yes … I knew that I had to come again, but … there was one problem – how would I tell my husband?

After all, we've both had the same opinion when it came to church, namely that you better stayed out of it.

Well, I've never been a friend of beating around the bush, and so I've started one of the strangest conversations ever.

"Uhm, darling?" I'd started one evening shortly after the baptism.

"Hmm?" He'd asked, without looking up from what he'd been doing.

"Well, dunno what's with you, but I'd like going there again." I'd said, receiving a confused look from my husband.

"Where?" He'd asked, shaking his head, clearly not understanding what I'd meant.

"Well, to that – service." I'd answered, unable to bring myself to saying "to that church".

"Sure." He'd said, causing me to look over at him, startled, shocked, blinking at him like a stupid idiot. "Let's do that."

Well – one might now think that surely that's far from being a strange conversation, but it was, because I'd been so sure that he'd think that now, I'd gone completely nuts! After a speaking disorder, and after a social disorder, now I must have gone completely nuts! I'd been one hundred percent positive of that. And then he'd told me that – 'sure, let's do that? Just like that? Without any kind of contradiction? Without any kind of discussion? Without a "but" even? Without a "why" even?

Strange, really!

But well, from that moment on we'd been going to "church" regularly, even though it had taken a long time until I'd really called it a church. "Service" I'd called it, "sermon", "community" or "assembly of God", even "prayer group" was alright with me, anything, absolutely anything but – _church_ , and it took me a long time until I've learned that the church actually is the church of God, and that the word church has nothing to do with most of the churches we here have.

Well, until that time, whenever people had asked if I were a Christian, then my answer had been "a Christian? Well, sure … of course I am a Christian."

Because – well, I wasn't a Jew, I wasn't a Muslim, I wasn't a Buddhist, I wasn't a Hinduist, and I didn't believe in Manitou and the happy hunting grounds either. And definitely was I no Atheist, because I _did_ believe in God, after all, didn't I?

So – of course I was a Christian! Wasn't I?

What else should I be except of a Christian?

How ignorant I have been!

How much I had fooled God, myself and anyone else!

Not that God had been fooled by me, surely not, because God knew exactly where in his realm I stood, but I had fooled Him anyway.

I had believed in God, yes. And I had read in the bible, sure, and I had talked with God, of course, but again I had made a mistake, and a grave one this time, and this time I didn't even have the excuse of being a child anymore, I've been grown, I've been an adult, and so I should have known better. Because the truth is, I've only had God walking besides of me, sometimes I've been running ahead, sometimes I've been trudging behind of Him, but I haven't been really walking _together with_ him.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

You know … I always actually _have_ believed those stories in the bible. I've believed them when I was a child, and I've believed them when I was a teen, and I've known they were true when I've been an adult. God creating earth and man in six days? Sure, what reason for should I not believe it? After all, how stupid was that evolutionary theory?

Every form of life being formed by chance? Out of some kind of primordial soup? Accidentally? Cells dividing themselves – and a million times, no less – in just the correct way? That would be even more luck than winning the lottery a million times, and I haven't even won it once. All the perfection of the universe – and of mankind – having happened accidentally?

First – life did not start with a bolt of lightning striking a pond of water, causing several molecules to combine in a random way which, just by chance, resulted in a living cell which then divided and – again, just by chance – evolved into higher life forms, as claimed by evolutionists. That's just hogwash. An entire team of top scientists from all over the world with unlimited resources and the most modern laboratories would be unable to create a single living cell as it is simply impossible to form organic life from inorganic matter. To produce a living thing you must start with a living thing, always.

You know, some people might believe that they stem from monkeys – I prefer believing that I am a child of God.

Second – you know, in school our children are taught that life can evolve given enough time and that our ancestors are some kind of monkeys – that's not only a statement without any scientific support, but it's a simple lie. Our children are taught that, allow a monkey to use your laptop to punch the keys at random, and eventually they're writing down the simple 26-letter alphabet. That's just nonsense. He can't do that, never in a trillion of years.

A computer was programmed to do just that – writing down the 26-letter alphabet by randomly using the keys, and after .000 (35 trillion) attempts it has only arrived at 14 letters correctly. In other words – time does not make impossible things possible, never in a trillion of years.

And now a simple single cell organism, they say, has evolved given the complexity of more than 60.000 proteins of 100 different configurations and all in the correct places? Sorry, but never in eternity could that have happened! Time doesn't make impossible things possible, never mind how much time is given.

How much easier is it to believe that God has formed a man from clay in one day? Sure, it still would be a none-living matter, but how much easier is it to believe that God has breathed life into the man's nostrils? What is there to doubt? Every day you can witness the wonders of nature and you believe that they're there. You won't deny the beauty of a particular sky shortly after a thunderstorm. So why would you doubt the wonder God has done with Adam? I see no reason to doubt that.

Third – even Charles Darwin himself confessed that a perfect and complex eye could never have been formed by natural selection: "To suppose that the eye with all its inimitable contrivances for adjusting the focus to different distances, for admitting different amounts of light, and for the correction of spherical and chromatic aberration, could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I confess, absurd in the highest degree."

If natural selection were true, then humans in the tropics wouldn't have black skin as black skin absorbs the heat more than white skin does – anyway they have, just the opposite of what natural selection would say. Eskimos would have fur to keep them warm, but they haven't, except of the hair of the scalp and beard they're just as hairless as everyone else, again, just the opposite of what natural selection would say.

Evolutionists say that a fish has wiggled out of the water and onto dry land and then became a land creature – that's just stupid, because the moment the fish came to the land, it would have gasped for several time, trying to get back to the safety of the water before it would have choked to death as it can't breathe air.

Sure, fishes can do stupid things at times, like a fish jumping out of the aquarium once in a while, and like whales that keep swimming up on the beach where they die. But there's no reason to think that those fishes or whales would be trying to start evolving into a fish with lungs to become some higher creatures, that's just plain irrational as no fish would wiggle out of the water for several millions of years in an attempt to choke less and less until his gills evolved into lungs so that he could breathe air, not to mention that he'd be unable going back to the water as he'd be drowning then. The fish wouldn't have become a higher creature, he'd just changed his living environment.

How much more logical is it that God has made the fish the way it is, with having a reason? Would he have liked the fish living on land, then he'd given him lungs instead of gills. But no, God has done a perfect job in creating living things on the earth, in the water, and in the air. All the living space on earth God has filled with life – what is there to change? It is perfect the way it is, and there's no reason to come up with a theory that would explain why there's life on earth, or in the air – it is the way it is, because God has made it that way, and it's perfect the way it is, no reason to change anything at all.

Well, and if you take earth itself, just look at how earth is correcting its own route every now and then, to just the correct times and coordinates, so that it won't go astray, and to save us from being either burned to death or freeze to death – that doesn't happen accidentally and just by chance, without someone bigger to control everything.

Do not take me wrong, I won't say that science is bad, because we need science and I'd be happy being a scientist if that weren't connected with math so much. And do not take me wrong, I won't say that Charles Darwin was a bad guy, either. Evolution is a theory stated by Darwin more than one hundred and fifty years ago – but actually it was already developed by his grandfather in the year 1794, before Charles Darwin was even born, and back then science didn't have the evidence available to prove the theory false. Of course he wouldn't only believe his grandfather, but also look for anything that might support his grandfather's theories – nothing wrong here, but sadly he'd declined the existence of God with his theory and caused thousands of people with him to turn away from God.

Louis Pasteur once said: "The more I study nature, the more I stand amazed at the work of the Creator. Science brings men nearer to God."

James Prescott Joule once said: "Order is manifestly maintained in the universe … the whole being governed by the sovereign will of God."

And Sir Isaac Newton once said: "Atheism is so senseless. When I look at the solar system, I see the earth at the right distance from the sun to receive the proper amounts of heat and light. This did not happen by chance. The true God is a living, intelligent and powerful being."

Well known scientists who all state their belief in God, because there are more than just the few I've mentioned here – now, can they all be wrong? Surely not.

In my humble opinion, belief in evolution is not only a very remarkable phenomenon, but religion already, because despite the lack of any visible scientific evidence for evolution, it is a belief that is passionately defended by scientists and evolutionists – really, how much easier would it be to simply believe in God having created everything? They wouldn't have to look for evidence over evidence just to find that their evidences have no hold when it comes to God's creation.

The question is, just why do they feel the need to counter the creationist message? Why are they so adamantly committed to anti-creationism? I do not know an answer to that question, but I think it's a sad thing that people won't give God a chance but dismiss him so easily.

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Alright, and now I have added an entire section about creation and evolution, which I haven't had in mind the moment I started writing this foreword, but well, I guess there will be a reason as to why I did, and who am I to tell my fingers to stop writing if they're at work?

What I wanted to say with that simply is – the mistake I had made when reading the bible a second time, was not lack of knowledge, because I always knew that God was there to keep everything alright – I'd known it, and I'd been an adult who should have been able to use some brain and think. I'd known that what is written in the bible is no fairy tale but truth, but I have never taken those stories from the bible into my heart. I have never tried to learn from them. And most importantly, I have never lived according to what I have read in the bible.

You know, I have learned a lot of things during my life, and learning is one of the most important pastimes to begin with. I've re-learned English after I was free from my mother who'd forbidden me this particular language which I have grown up with. I have learned Sindarin and Quenya, I am learning Cheyenne and Danish, and I have learned a lot of other things, too, as long as it didn't have any relations to math. I have learned playing the guitar, I have learned how to write books and I have learned how to use a pencil for drawing. When I was a child and but ten years old, I have learned to survive, to work, to care for a house and a family, and to carry more responsibility than any child should carry.

I have learned many things – and sometimes I wonder why I have not learned anything from the bible.

Maybe it was because I've never had someone who told me that you actually could _learn_ from the bible, maybe it was because Satan had so many means to keep people from regarding this particular book, and maybe it was because somewhere in my heart I hadn't trusted in God, not completely, after all, not really, because the most important lection I had learned in my life, had been that you better trusted no one. It was a lection taught by my mother, and she'd had her own means of teaching, and I'd never forgotten this one.

Never love.

And never trust.

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But then – if you're going together with God, then anything can happen.

If you're going together with God, then you can collect miracles like others would collect marbles.

If you're going with God, then the impossible can happen.

For nearly all my life, for about 30 years I'd hated people with all my heart, with a passion that was already legendary amongst those who knew me. After all, people were the most cruel and horrible beings, doing cruel and horrible things to each other, hurting each other whenever possible, killing each other, stealing things from each other, lying to each other – there's nothing good in mankind, absolutely nothing and there's not one who'd go as an exception.

Sure, I'd never viewed my husband as a killing guy who'd steal and hurt people in the most cruel way possible, because not only is he the best person on this earth, but also I'd simply lived in my own world where I had my family, where I lived with my family, but except of that I'd never left the house to meet other people if it weren't absolutely necessary – in other words, indispensable for life.

However – like I already said, I'd visited this church for the first time, and I hadn't hated the people _there_ , whatever reason for, and it had scared me so very much, back then, because I hadn't understood. But then, I'd gotten used to … not hating those people, and I hadn't thought about it anymore – it was just like, _'well, I don't hate them, that's alright with me. Surely it hasn't anything to do with me, but with them because they might be – well, some kind of good people'._

But then the next really strange thing had happened – after several weeks I'd started loving those people!

Imagine!

Me loving people!

It's been as if Gilderoy Lockhart had proven some backbones and said that surely he'd go to the chamber of secrets to kill that basilisk, alone and without endangering the students – something that was just impossible!

But it _had_ happened, and the more time had passed, the more I'd loved them – sorry, but if that's no miracle, then I don't know what is.

With some time passing I'd started loving other people, too, people who weren't in our church, people I've met in town, and people who'd been anything but kind in the past. I've been able to ignore their not always nice comments, and I've been able to do them good, even though they didn't care about it, and I've been able to forget what they'd done in the past.

Alright, I had changed, hadn't I?

There'd been a miracle, and I'd changed, and surely that's been it!

My mother had taught me how to hate – but God has changed my heart so that I could love again … God has shown his power, has done his miracle concerning me, and so – well, surely that's been it!

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How wrong I'd been, and how much I'd misunderstood God, because it hadn't taken long until the most strange thing possible had happened.

My husband and I had signed in for the Alpha, an evangelistic course which introduces the basics of Christian faith through a series of talks and discussions, and the course started on a Wednesday in spring 2013.

The day before that, on Tuesday morning, I'd been walking through downtown in Schramberg, on my way to 'the other shop', when a person came towards me.

Nothing to worry about, because it's been downtown, of course I'd meet people there!

But upon looking closer I couldn't help noticing that …

what the …

was that my – MOTHER?

Ah, no – surely not, because she was living someplace in Bavaria while I'm living in Baden Württemberg, surely she'd not walking through Schramberg, and surely not while I'd be doing the same …

Just wait a moment – it WAS my mother!

But what in the Name of God was she doing here?

I hadn't met her for several years, for many years, actually, for a lot of many years, I hadn't met her for about five hundreds of years or something like that, for a lifetime, and now I'd been meeting her here in my hometown? What was she doing in my hometown? Couldn't I have some peace from her in my own hometown, even?

But a moment later she stood before me.

I'd been so baffled, I only could ask "what are _you_ doing here?" Without saying "hello" first, or "good morning", or any other such greeting phrase you said just out of politeness without a meaning behind.

"Well, I'd had an appointment in Schramberg." She'd answered, standing before me, and suddenly she looked just as unsure and lost as I always had felt in her presence. "And then I'd thought I'd go to downtown, maybe I'd meet Claudia."

It's been the most ridiculous thing she could have said, I'd thought back then, because … well, it's just been one of her excuses, one of the things she always made up to get what she'd want, one of her whatever … because, really – how stupid did she think I was? Walking through downtown in hopes she'd see her daughter whom she hadn't met for long enough so that she wouldn't know her grandchildren? Just like that? But on the other hand – there she was, and there I was.

The thing was, I barely could discuss with her on the streets, and so, without further ado – and without thinking over it, too – I took her with me to the other shop, all the way wondering what she'd want of me now, all the way trying to fight down the fear that had threatened to come up over and over again, because what could she do now? I was an adult, after all, I'd raised four children myself, two of them being adults already. I hadn't done anything wrong, I'd done my homework and I'd done the dishes. I'd started the laundry machine, and I'd cleaned the kitchen, too. The most ridiculous reasons as to why I couldn't get into trouble with her came to my mind while we'd been walking to the other shop, just like back then when I'd been a child.

In the end we'd been siting there, drinking coffee and talking about this and that, about the weather and about how my children were doing, about nothing particular and especially not about the past – and then the greatest miracle happened: when she'd left, I'd been able hugging her, even telling her that it's been good having seen her … and the other strange thing? I'd meant it.

For years I'd hated her, more than anything, I'd feared her like other people would fear the devil, and I'd fled anything that had to do with – _her_ – for more than thirty years. And suddenly I was free of that, from one moment to the other, just like that, and without the slightest difficulties.

I'd been in church, and in prayer-groups back then for long enough to know the concept of forgiving people. I knew all the reasons as to why it was necessary to begin with, and I knew how it worked, too. But I'd been so sure that I wouldn't be able forgiving my mother. In my mind, maybe, making a conscious decision, but forgiving her in my heart? I've been sure for one hundred and twenty percent, that I'd never be able forgiving her in my heart, never mind how much I'd try, and I didn't try too hard, believe me.

And then God made this. God sent her on my way, giving me the chance to meet her and to forgive her, and God made me forgiving her. Not I had done that, because I'd been unable to and God surely had known, and so he'd made it. I have forgiven her, without struggling, without a big bang of accusations and without anything else. I'd just forgiven her, in peace and in calmness, it just had happened and that is something that is not humanly possible.

Our contact is still not the best and we don't meet every week. But we have contact to begin with.

Still she doesn't have my number, and it's me calling her. But I do call her from time to time.

And if that is no miracle, then I don't know what is.

And then the next day came, Wednesday, and Alpha would start.

My oldest daughter did believe in God, too, but just like me some time ago, she didn't believe in the church, and she'd seen our joining the church rather critically.

"Just leave this group, mom." She'd often said. "It's a sect, and surely they just want your money." And never mind what I told her, she just wouldn't listen and refused anything that had to do with our church.

She has her own flat in our house and is working in the old people's home here in Schramberg. She's become a very impressive young lady, and I'm very proud of her, but in this area she just wouldn't listen.

Well, this particular Wednesday arrived, and I was walking home, walking along the pavement close to our house when my daughter came towards me on her way to some friends.

"Hey Ronja." I'd greeted her. "Alpha's starting tonight, you're coming?" I'd then asked, just to make a joke, because I knew that she'd never do that, that she'd never come, not for the life of her!

But then the unthinkable happened.

She stood there, looking at me – and then …

"Shure." She'd said, seriously. "When do they start?"

"Uhm …" I'd made, very eloquently. "At eight …"

"Alright, tell me when you start." She'd said, still seriously, and on she went on her way to her friends, leaving me behind, baffled and still blinking in shock.

And she'd really been coming to Alpha.

She's been a challenge, I guess, because she'd been more than just a little bit critical towards everything she'd heard there, not believing blindly and she'd started many heated discussions, provoking the mentors, even, but in the end she's been positive and now she's visiting service whenever her work in the old people's home allows it, she's helping in the Youth Alpha, and she's been baptized just a few weeks ago.

And sometimes I wonder – was it a test God had put me through? This meeting with my mother on that Tuesday morning? Because I know that God had sent her my way. I have learned that if you're going with God, then there are no odds and no accidents, no chances and no coincidences, no lucks and no happenstances. If you're going with God, then he's leading you, and if you allow him to lead you, if you trust his lead even if you don't understand, then he's leading you well.

And maybe God has sent my mother as a kind of test, to see if I'm ready to actually forgive. Like I said, I've heard about the concept of forgiving even before we'd started Alpha – that concept wasn't actually new to me, but knowing about the concept, and acting according to it, there's a difference between those two. Maybe God wanted to make sure that I'd be ready taking my daughter on this path, too, with asking her if she'd like to come to the Alpha, too. I don't know, but I know that there had been two miracles in two days.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

But then – if you go together with God, then anything can happen.

If you're going together with God, then you can collect miracles like others would collect marbles.

If you're going with God, then the impossible can happen.

I don't know if I'll really be able to live up to the expectations God has set in me … but he's been doing miracles during the past let me say two or three years – or I wouldn't have been able to write this, looking back at all the things without screaming bloody murder and wishing to kill someone, preferably my mother. I have grown during the past two or three years, not in height, but in my heart, I think, in my mind – whatever, I don't really know.

But most strangely – I have even started to love people.

And such a statement coming from my person!

I, the dark and cold misanthrope, the one person who hated human being enough to turn my back on them forever, the one person who could stand up to a guy who'd just broken my wrist, looking up at him with a disdainful smile and with the question if this was all he could do, getting the same wrist broken a bit more for it before again standing up to him and asking him the same question, again, not even hating him anymore but only feeling disdain over him because he was human. I think I could have felt more respect towards a rat or a snake, even a spider than towards that guy – and not even because he'd broken my wrist, such a thing hadn't been the first time after all and it wasn't the first scar either. Someone who'd lived with my mother didn't get out of it without scars. No – but just because he was a human being.

And to say now that I have started to love people? People I don't know even – just because they are people?

That is as if Hereweald Hrothgar – or Severus Snape – gave away a declaration about how to love the world – they would both end up in a closed ward right away. And a year ago it would have been simply impossible for me to say such a thing – I'm sure that a lot of people who knew me up to now would happily call 911 if they knew, without blinking an eye even and send me to a mental ward, preferably a closed ward. Because people knew that – I don't love _anyone_. Not ever. And not even myself.

But well – I also think that God had given me a place, and the place even seems to fit, seeing that I like to draw and to write. But again – will I be able to live up to all the expectations around me will? Won't I disappoint people again? Just like I've always disappointed my mother? I don't know it and I can only hope and trust in the people around me to have patience with me – something that doesn't sit too well with me, trusting people.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

And concerning the logic of the place I've found myself in – I've forgotten to tell you about my love for writing – well …

Maybe I should first apologize for the chaos that will make appearance in the following chapters before I start explaining anything, just so to set you at ease – and that the upcoming chapters will be chaotic – well, no one, and lest of all me, can deny that.

Let me just say – would any of my prior German- or English teachers get this here between their fingers, then they would most likely – alright, they would _surely_ lay it aside with a shocked expression on their faces upon just reading the name of the author. It would awaken memories in form of horror-visions, because those poor people – and all of them – had been regularly driven to madness – due to anecdotes as they were wandering from the subjects as well as due to essays as they'd been too detailed and comments like "too detailed" … "too comprehensive" … "too circuitous" … "too explanative" … "too nested" … "too complicated" … and even "too loquacious" – even though I doubt _that_ – well, with time they didn't have to come up with such comments anymore, no – they just needed to copy them from the past works of mine.

One teacher of mine once even said – you could describe a leaf floating down from a tree, carried by the wind in autumn – and for this one scene you'd need at least four or five pages in your tiny handwriting no one can read anyway. I'm still not sure if it was a compliment or an insult.

On the other hand – I've never been able to avoid just that – what however wasn't because of lack of attempts but rather because there's a really strange formula which – and I'm sure of that – even the best scientist wouldn't be able to explain –

Namely: me plus pencil equal chaos.

And well – seeing that I've been the worst case in math, the teachers of _this_ particular science having gotten just as desperate upon my questions as to – "but _why_ is two plus three equal to five" as my German and English teachers had gotten upon my essays – so, well, I've never been able to alter this formula myself either, not to mention getting to an – for my teachers – adequate outcome.

The reason for that was simple – whenever there was an essay or similar to be written, actually anything that had to do with words, then I didn't have any influence over my pencil anymore which – apparently – always found its own way across the papers, and so the outcome of an essay was generally inevitable – it was at least six, seven or eight pages, most of the time even more, in a handwriting that was – well – small. I was entirely innocent of it, it hadn't been my fault.

Anyway, even after school, writing one thing or another has kept up with me, has even followed me upon each step I took, whatever the reason.

Some years there had just been a few short and nonsense stories the result of my writing which I would delete from my laptop with the same expression of horror on my face that would be found on the faces of my teachers would they get these upcoming chapters between their fingers – nope, I'd delete it without thinking of it even once, let alone twice and without blinking an eye even, were they still in my possession.

And so I've stopped writing at all – there was no reason in producing trash after all and nothing else it had been and so some time passed – alright – just a few weeks passed, maybe a few months but surely not more because …

Well, yes – because then there was Hereweald Hrothgar who stumbled over my path someplace deep down in the labyrinth of my brain – and he's reminded me so very much of myself that I wasn't able to forget him ever again. And when shortly after Hereweald even met Herbaceous VanHarkins – well, then I didn't have another choice other than – no, of course not to take the pencil from the place whence I'd banned it, but to start my laptop. Not really to write a book, but rather – to write anything at all. After all it's been weeks since I'd last written anything, and for me that was – like years.

And so I've sat there – not at a table in a classroom this time but at home in front of my laptop – but how should it be otherwise? I had to deal with the same problem again. Not my pencil had his own will this time, but my fingers, just as if they'd ignore the impulses my brain was trying to send over to them with a devilish grin and they hastened across the keyboard, quicker than their muscles could react – in other words, I didn't stumble over my tongue but over my fingers.

However, what came out of it was – chaos, again!

But this time it wasn't too bad a thing because – Hereweald had been a messy guy himself and so the thing fit well. Just how I could integrate Herbaceous into this mess – I really didn't know. But again my fingers had taken this decision from me by themselves and when I've read over the thing one evening, about what I had written for the past few nights – well, what am I to say? I've been more frustrated than ever, I've been close to tears even with desperation and short of deleting the entire rubbish.

Because Hereweald and Herbaceous living together in the same house? Never! That would be something like – as if you'd drive with a container filled with high explosive nitro-glycerine over a bumpy and jolty crushed stone road – it just couldn't work! Fortunately however I wasn't able to do it (deleting the rubbish I mean, not the drive across the bumpy road with the nitro-glycerine) and I've rather racked my brains over it once more, for days and days.

And really, I've been able to – against all logic – not only befriend the thought but to even get new ideas out of it – because imagining what chaos had to come out of it if you threw the most normal, sober, and logical person existent on this planet called Earth together with the definitely most chaotic, messy, and impulsive person – well, as my husband one day said: It couldn't be worse than it is with the two of us – and he'd been not only serious about it, but he'd been correct too.

However, the two – Hereweald and Herbaceous of course – grew in mind and character and with the months the two of them had started a life of their own and somehow I've lost any influence on them. They just didn't care anymore about what I – the author – wanted them doing, but they just did what they wanted, imagine! Can you understand how much their constant bickering and picking at each other got on my nerves with time? Not to mention Hereweald's constant sarcasm towards Herbaceous and Herbaceous always being so damn calm about it what drove Hereweald nuts at the same time!

But well, as someone who loved fantasy novels or movies, it was about two years later that I stumbled over Harry Potter – and with it of course Fanfiction – and then started writing there. Hereweald and Herbaceous got in the background of my writing – alright, actually I've put them in a file of my laptop so that I could concentrate on Snape and Potter which allowed me so much room to play. And seeing that I had already learned how to throw the most different people into the least likely situations – I think I've been good in my new job as an internet-author on Fanfiction – at least my readers have never complained much. One thing here or there if they were unhappy with one direction or another I had approached – but generally I got good reviews, and a lot of reviews – and I've been happy with throwing Snape and Potter together into the most difficult and complicated situations where they had to – grow.

It was kind of a special challenge, taking two already existent characters and to then change them without changing their basic nature, without changing who they are – while changing them so that they could form a family. You can come up with a new character, but working with given specifications – it's a real challenge and any other author on Fanfiction will surely agree with me on that.

However, with the time Hereweald forced his way back into my writing again and became a friend of Severus Snape, and seeing that my readers seemed to like him too, he'd accompanied several of my stories over the years on Fanfiction, together with Herbaceous VanHarkins even – until – yes, again until there was something that didn't leave my mind anymore after a daring from Catlady, one of my most loyal readers and reviewers.

Her words have been something like: evil, you really need to stop tormenting people one of these days and I dare you to write something sweet and fluffy … it's been something along these lines and she'd even offered a cup of black coffee afterwards – virtual coffee, of course, seeing that she's sitting in the States and I'm sitting in Germany – to get the bad taste of the sweetness and fluffiness out of my mouth, how very nice of her … :D …

But well, the stone was laid and – well, and I wondered – what about Hereweald?

Not as a minor character as in my Harry Potter stories but as a main character again?

Not that I wanted to write another completely new book with Hereweald and Herbaceous – surely not. Fanfiction had become my home – and so on Fanfiction I will remain – what means, I do need – or rather did need – an already existing book to write about.

But – what about changing books from Harry Potter to the Bible?

A rather audacious thing to do was my first thought, but then?

I've always done the daring things when it came to my writing. And I've always lived up to the responsibility any author has towards his readers. I've never sugar-coated child abuse, never mind if my readers were happy about it or not, I've never sugar-coated anything at all and if I needed to have a character dying, then I've done just that, even though it's been a character my readers have loved – which is the reason as to why none of my stories should be read by children or teens below the age of sixteen, because I'm never sugar-coating anything – and well, I've always thrown people together or them in a situation where my readers at first thought – strange, why would she do such a thing? That won't work, not ever!

But in the end it always worked out.

Some people say they don't know which of my main characters they pity the most, but that's what makes it as interesting as it seems to be – and so I have made my mind up and I have started writing a new story, with a new storyline, with a new plot and with a new background – without wizards, without magic, and the only things that remain are Hereweald Hrothgar, Herbaceous VanHarkins whom I have re-named into Hendrik VanHarkins even, and the fact that Hereweald is a teacher and will be thrown together with a student he doesn't like in a situation that will be – once again – least likely.

But even though it's a new story and a new book – I fear that, again, it lacks the sweetness and again it lacks the fluff – in other words, I fear, I have lost the dare, my dear Catlady … but the idea has me hooked and so it's even become my first priority (very much to the regret of the readers of my other stories as they won't get HP stories anymore) … it's just that apparently I am unable writing sweet fluff because I have learned that – life isn't sweet and life isn't fluffy either … and I would lie to not only you, but myself either would I disregard these lessons …

And I am no one to lie to anyone, never mind the truth …

Thank you …

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter two: a small valley that deserves your attention for a moment …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	2. prologue - how everything started

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.  
Child neglect as well as child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter two – Prologue – how everything started**

 **Or – an introduction of town and people**

 **July 14th 1939, Friday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Dunstan Black  
**

There was a strange sound that woke him and taking a deep breath he pried his eyes open, quickly closing them again at the flickering light outside his windows, and sleepily he ran a hand over his face as if to try and brush away the dream he'd had.

It had been his friend dying in that damn car crush up there on this hillslope – again. This time it's been raining, making the entire road slippery and even sludgy, and for a moment he nearly laughed at the thought that he liked those nightmares where the hillslopes were bathed in bright sunlight, more. What an idiot thought, really.

There had been no rain when Joshua had died, but the hillslopes hadn't been bathed in sunlight either. The young man had just lost control over his car, that's been all. He'd been coming from the stone pit where the Hudsons had lured him to, and racing down those damn hillslopes – which had been closed off anyway because they'd been too dangerous – he'd lost control over his car. But there had been no rain.

Barely awake he still tried to figure out what kind of damn light had woken him – just when there was a strange sound adding, getting his annoyance up another notch.

Damn, _where_ the hell was he, he wondered, his brows furrowed agitatedly.

And what on earth was that idiotic light out there in front of his window about? His house was in a side-street without a streetlamp and if those damn neighbouring kids didn't play with the lights in their room – what they wouldn't survive if he got them between his fingers – then there shouldn't be any light at all and surely no flickering light.

And again – there was that damn, bloody sound, an absolute nerve-racking ringing that repeated itself over and over again … and suddenly he knew – the damn, bloody telephone.

He wasn't in Virginia anymore, he wasn't even in Nevada anymore. For nearly two months now he was stuck here in this blasted, godforsaken one-horse town – even though he wasn't so sure anymore that this town really was so godforsaken, if something like God even existed – and it hadn't been the flickering light that only was the advertising sign of the motel he lived in which had woken him, but the ringing of that damn telephone in the hall.

And seeing that this particular telephone seemed to refuse stopping its ringing until anyone had answered the call, he got out of bed, nearly stumbling over the chair that served as his nightstand, tapping along the wall to the door of his room, and opening it he hasted towards the wall with the telephone, fishing for the bloody thing in his sleepy doziness to answer the call.

"Wha'ss'it?" He asked, his voice still rough with sleep and not bothering with giving away his name.

The motel held three stores, one with the counter and an area for common meals if one wished to partake in them, and two floors with the rooms for the dwellers, because surely one couldn't call them visitors or guests. Most of the people living here were living here for several months now, a few even for several years, because this fleabag of a motel was cheap. There was a bathroom in the hall, a table with a few chairs for sitting together, a rack with the newspaper from last week – sometimes from the week before last week – and a few books. And each floor did have a telephone in the hall, too – which he right now was answering as no other of the inhabitants seemed to feel responsible for answering the call and therefore end that damn ringing.

"Mornin' sleepyhead." An amused voice answered. "You don't have a clue what time it is, do you?"

What time … damn!

Hastily Dunstan tapped along the wall until he'd found the light switch, just to realize that the light was defect, yet again, and then looked down at the arm clock he was wearing, straining his eyes to see the hands in the semi darkness the hall was cast in – shortly past six. Shit, he had overslept, and angrily he cursed under his breath.

"My apology." He finally said. "I will be down in a minute." And with these words he carelessly hung up the receiver, hasted back to his room, and quickly started picking up his clothes without opening the curtain in front of his window. He quickly washed, slipped into his Jeans and shirt, and finally he fixed his hair into the braid he was wearing since the weather had grown as hot as it was right now.

It was a rare occasion that he was late, but today, he was.

How on earth he had managed to end up here, he wasn't really able to explain, even if his life depended on it. It's been one of the strangest moments in his life, and it's been one of the most idiotic decisions he'd made in his life, too, and he'd made some of them, but still he couldn't really explain it.

However, just a few days after he had arrived in New Heaven's Valley, he had looked for a job, but he hadn't been too lucky. It was a small valley only, without any large firms and therefore there weren't many free jobs at all, and so he had asked the sheriff, Cole Benson, and _he_ had sent him to the sole garage here that was outside the small village, down Chestnut Oak Avenue. He'd said Norman always needed a helping hand, and there wasn't any other job anyway.

Here, in this small one-horse town everyone had his job and every job was taken by the villagers of the small community, after all.

Of course he could have done one or another assignment or experiment, working on his researches and selling the results to one or another firm he still was in contact with, it wouldn't be the first time he did this, he was an analytical chemist, after all, but doing his experiments in a small motel room that barely held space for a bed, a chair serving as bedside table, a wardrobe and a small table with only one chair left, that wasn't such a good idea, really. He simply would have to work at the garage for a while until he had enough money to rent a larger and more comfortable place – or until he was ready to go back to his old job as an analytical chemist at VPD, the Virginia Police Department and the world of large companies and industrial chemistry laboratories. But he wasn't ready for that yet.

 **Flashback**

 **May 1939, Tonopah**

 _"Dunstan?"_

 _Jonathan's soft voice that came from behind nearly startled him out of his wits for a moment – nearly, mind you, because he was a grown man that had his fair share in life and he didn't simply get startled out of his wits._

 _Had he really been so deeply lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed the presence of his friend? And quickly he sat up straighter, just to show his not quite existent strength, and turned in the armchair he was sitting in to blink at the man that was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed before his chest, watching him with his eyes narrowed._

 _"What is it, Jonathan?" He softly asked, his deep and velvet voice steady._

 _"That's the question I've had in mind for you, Dunstan." The young man came closer a few steps, into the room and stopped beside Dunstan, gazing with his blue eyes into the black ones. "You don't look so well."_

 _Again Dunstan sighed – if he read the look he could see on the other man's face correctly, then he could be sure that his friend was indeed worried over him and that was something he didn't like – not one bit, because it was clear proof that the bitterness and the frustration he felt were written in his face and he forced himself to show his usual blank mask to ease the other. But well, it was in vain, and Dunstan could see that the worried shadows in Jonathan's eyes didn't vanish but rather deepened._

 _"Don' try fooling me, friend, I know you better than that." Jonathan's voice, too, was soft and slowly he sat onto the edge of the bed beside the armchair Dunstan was sitting in, gently running his hand over the folds of the bed his brother always had been sleeping in. "What's kept you so busy, so that you didn't hear me coming in?"_

 _"Am I that easy to read?" Dunstan asked, his tone of voice defeated, watching Jonathan's gentle movement and he remembered Kenrich laying in this bed, sleeping innocently while he noticed with a certain portion of sarcasm that the wording 'innocence' in combination with Kenrich not really fit, even now – after his death_ _… even now, after all their deaths._

 _He hadn't thought he'd ever leave Virginia to come back here, to come back 'home', but he had._

 _His father, the last of his family had died, and now he was back, trying to sort out everything, trying to find out how his brothers had died, how his parents had died – how this mess had been possible at all. On the other hand, he should have known that it would come to this, that it would end like this, that had been the reason as to why he'd run away so many years ago, after all._

 _Well, he knew that his twin, that Kenrich had been murdered, exactly two years after he'd left their parents' house, but he hadn't been here for the funeral, he'd been unable to bring himself to coming back. He'd been on the roads for two years, travelling the land, taking this job or that job for a while to get some money. He'd been twelve when he'd left, but most people had believed him to be fifteen or sixteen and he'd never been in troubles because of his age, and two years later, when he'd been fourteen, when Kenrich had been killed, he hadn't known how to get back._

 _Sure, he'd known the way back home, and sure, he'd just needed to thumb a ride like he'd always done. Like that, he'd nearly been all over the States for more than two years, after all. No – he hadn't known how to get back in a completely different meaning, because … well, he just hadn't known._

 _However, he didn't know how his older brother had died. He hadn't even known that he'd died at all until he'd come here after his father's death, because no one had told him and he hadn't asked. But upon coming here and looking through his father's things, well, his father had declared his oldest son dead, but there was no information given concerning his death. No notice of death, no gravesite, no nothing. It was as if his older brother had never existed, as if he'd been wiped from existence._

 _And now his parents had died, too – first his mother, and now, a few months later, his father. He didn't know how his mother had died, he'd just heard about it from a stranger, by accident, but he'd been informed by the family lawyer about his father's death. Apparently his father had been drunk – again – causing a car crash during which he'd died, leaving behind several mansions, several banks, and several good-running companies, and now he was here to settle his father's businesses, the businesses of a man he'd barely known and surely didn't overly care about, because that man had never cared about him or his brothers either._

 _"Hmm_ _… you are." Jonathan answered. "You're sitting in your brother's room for hours now."_

 _Jonathan, his friend, had come with him to visit his childhood home the moment he'd heard what hat happened, keeping him company in a time he considered – not hard, but surely not easy either as he'd never been overly happy with his family, but a time he rather considered_ _ _–_ strange, maybe. _

_"You know, all those past years during our youth, I've learned to know you well enough, and I can tell that, you have the same look in your eyes I've seen when Joshua, my dear brother, had this foolish idea to climb the cliff at the northern border – and fell. I think I don't have to mention the broken arm."_

 _Scowling Dunstan actually did remember the incident, more clearly than ever, more clearly than he liked._

 _"Or the same look I've seen when my brother managed to fall down the cascade." The other man continued. "In the midst of winter, I might add. Well, I think I don't have to mention the pneumonia either. Or the look I've seen when he had provoked this good fight with the boys from the Timberlake Ranch_ _. Do you remember that he_ _drove them mad? I think, the end of it has been more than just a black eye. Or …"_

 _"Alright, alright." He said, lifting his hands in surrender. "I know what you're trying to do. Just like Joshua has been your foolish little brother who'd caused troble at every turn he took, my little brother, too, had always been the foolish one of us and I, as the older one, always had to worry about him one way or another_ _ _–_ and maybe, had I remained here back then, he'd be alive still. But that's more than half a lifetime ago, Jonathan."  
_

 _"You do realize that the two of you are twins." Jonathan said, his tone of voice sarcastic._

 _"What doesn't change the little fact that I was born five minutes before him." He growled – it was a discussion he'd had to hold for all his life and especially his younger brother had never liked it._

 _Sighing he pictured his brother in his mind – and suddenly there was something, just somewhere behind his awareness, definitely there but too far gone to grasp it, too far away to realize what exactly it was. He strained his eyes to see better, narrowing them, and finally he could see – a young man was approaching him, slowly coming close, and he frowned – because he knew that, even though he looked like his brother, even though he looked like Kenrich, this young man couldn't be real, he knew that he existed somewhere within his mind only._

 _Slowly, while coming closer, the young man's outlines changed, his face growing softer and older, his clothes changing into robes, until there was someone standing before him whom he surely had never seen before._

 _In other words, it was an imagination and already he was about to turn, to relax his eyes and to concentrate on the presence, when the young man – whom he didn't even know – started talking to him._

 _"Wait a moment." The guy said and he actually did, focusing his mind back on the person._

 _"Who're you?" He asked._

 _"You know who I am, Dunstan." The guy said and he frowned, because no – he didn't. And how on earth did that guy know his name?_

 _"I'm Jesus." The guy said, and now he nearly laughed._

 _"Listen, I've never been an overly religious guy and I'm not planning to become one anytime soon." He said – 'said' in some strange way, because he knew that he didn't really speak, that he only spoke with that guy in his mind, just like he was seeing him in his mind only._

 _"That's a good thing, actually." Jesus answered, smiling, and he didn't understand, but then he shrugged his shoulders. What did he care about a guy in his mind who called himself Jesus? But then –_

 _"Go to New Heaven's Valley." The guy said, as if it were the most normal thing to send people someplace._

 _"What would I do there?" He asked._

 _"You'll know the moment you're there." His imagination answered, calmly, smiling at him as if – well, as if he'd done the most normal thing in the world, sending people someplace, and as if he was sure that he'd really do what he'd told him to do._

 **End flashback**

Well, and now he was here, he'd done what his imagination had told him – whatever reason for he'd done that in the first place, he still didn't know – but he still didn't know why he should be here, and he wasn't even sure if staying in this godforsaken village up here in Indiana would help him at any way possible, but something told him that right now, here was where he _had_ to be.

And so he'd taken a motel room, and he'd taken a job to make a bit of money for living.

Well, he had to admit, he really got dirty hands with this job in the garage, but all the same it was a job he could get off some steam, a job where he could do something, and the owner of the garage, Norman, had even left him his old Cherokee – which he had to repair, yet again – what was the reason Edgar was picking him up for work. But he'd got the old Cherokee for free and it was a good car, generally spoken.

He slipped into his shoes, took his jacket and his keys from the _– 'nightstand'_ and then he left the dark room, hastily went down the stairs without even turning on the light and finally he left the building.

"Morning sleepyhead." A smirking face appeared directly in front of him and he scowled. "Slept well?"

"Apparently." Dunstan answered with a growl while he fell in step with the young, red haired man. "I apologize for keeping you waiting." Well, the promised minute had become nearly five minutes in the end.

"No problem." The young mechanic said, waving off the apology. "Would my wife not wake me three times each morning, then I had lost my job a long time ago." The man chuckled while leaving the pavement and approaching his car.

Edgar was driving an old, blue Buick parking in the street in front of the motel and just like every time he saw it, Dunstan wasn't able to keep from shaking his head. The dark blue vehicle had a white car wing, a green bonnet and a red front passenger's door, a _demolished_ red front passenger's door, mind you. On the other hand, if he looked at the Buick closer, then he couldn't help noticing that not only the front passenger's door but the entire car was demolished – and rusty – like an old tin bucket that had seen too many years, too many hands and too many garden walls and street lamps.

Quickly he got into the car and the young man started the engine, manoeuvred the Buick into the _morning traffic_ – what in New Heaven's Valley, in the early morning hours shortly before half past six meant, that they had the street entirely for themselves.

They drove down Black Walnut Lane and at the crossroad Edgar turned right, drove along the Main Avenue that led out of the village centre, away from the lights and the … _main traffic_. It really was a small village and many of the people that lived here didn't even own a car.

There was a doctor in the Main Avenue – who _had_ a car – and a small lawyer office to the right of the doctor's house. And over the road, in an old, red brick house, there was a butcher directly beside the bakery where Dunstan got a roll or two for dinner each evening. Down the road, nearly on the corner, was a small police station.

But there was another interesting place nearby. It was an old, brown house that was to the right of the bakery at the corner. It was the kindergarten. Dunstan never before had seen so many small, little monkeys in one place and whenever he was nearby when the children were outside in the large garden, he stopped and watched them for a while, wondering if he ever would go back to Virginia – because directly beside the police department in Virginia, was Virginia High with its old masonry and the gates leading to the archways of the school, with the old yards and the high windows. And yet – he just wasn't ready to go back to Virginia right now. Not yet, not so close after Joshua's death, not while he didn't know what to do with himself, not while he didn't know how to solve the riddle his imagination had given him.

With a dark scowl he forced those thoughts back and focused onto the present.

At the town's boundaries the street went northwards and got shadowy. There were no lights anymore, no houses for nearly three miles and the street was empty, dusty and went straight ahead in the near semi-darkness of the early morning hours.

He was quiet, only thinking.

The street seemed endless this morning, as endless as his dream had been and he shuddered. Not really because of the cold, because it wasn't cold, on the contrary, but rather because of his tiredness, maybe even just because he had remembered his dream. Well, that wasn't hard, it had been the same one last night after all, and the night before, just as every night, actually. How could he not remember it? The darkness and the coldness he'd felt the moment when Joshua had died, how could he not forget the desperation he'd felt and what was more – how could he not forget his imagination's strange words – _'go to New Heaven's Valley'._ Just like that, without any further explanations. _'You'll know the moment you're there.'_

But he still didn't know.

He was here for three months now, but he still didn't know.

Finally they seemed to slow down and Edgar steered the Buick through the gates of the garage, parked beside an old, red Jeep and Dunstan massaged his neck for a moment, ran his hand over his face for a moment, before he got off the car.

"Mornin' boys!" A corpulent, dark haired man, dressed in oil stained blue Jeans and a dark grey shirt came out of the small barrack, strolled calmly over the dusty yard and greeted them both, grinning all over his weather-worn face.

The sun had started rising, gathering some power meanwhile and seeing that the night hadn't cooled down the heat of the day before, it was already very warm, nearly hot. The dust and the heat started laying heavily in the air and there was no breeze to cool it down a bit – and yet it was barely seven o'clock in the morning.

"Good morning, Norman" and "God morgen, Norman" Edgar and Dunstan answered, nearly at the same time and for a moment Norman looked to and fro between them as if seeing them for the first time before he scowled and shook his head.

"There isn't much to do today." The corpulent mechanic finally said with a thunderous voice. "Just a truck is here since last night. Broke down on the Highway with an empty battery, not far away from here and Jean got it here. I guess it's the generator."

Dunstan and Edgar both nodded and turned to have a look at the truck when Norman, the owner of the small garage, lifted his hands, palm up, and watched them questioningly.

"Hey, what's with breakfast?" Their boss asked, appalled. "I don't know what's wrong with the two of you, but I just need – _breakfast_!"

Edgar and Dunstan looked at each other before the one grinned and the other lifted his eyebrow due to the overdone panic in Norman's voice. Their _breakfast_ was a cup of coffee each morning, and a cigarette – or two – which Norman and Edgar – _enjoyed_ together, even though Dunstan couldn't really see how one could enjoy a stinking cigarette. But well, they followed the older mechanic into the small barrack and therefore into his office.

Norman went to the coffee maker and a few seconds later he turned back with three cups of coffee. One he reached towards Edgar and the other one at Dunstan before he seated himself onto the chair behind his old desk, watching Edgar who sat down onto the heater and Dunstan who sat down onto the edge of the desk.

Dunstan's eyes were drawn – just like every morning – towards the small metal sign that hung at the wall behind Norman.

 _'Do you want to talk with the boss or with someone who knows his stuff?'_

And like always when reading it he wondered why on earth everyone thought they had to hang up old, demolished and rusty metal signs that bore stupid slogans which everyone had read a thousand times already anyway.

"Well, Dunstan." Norman began. "While we're speaking of Jean – you're still looking for a more comfortable abode than the motel? You said something 'bout … outside a bit?"

"Yes, I am still looking." Dunstan answered after he had taken a sip of the coffee. "Why?"

"As I said, Jean has brought the truck last night and we've spoken a bit. You know, he has this small towing service during the summer months, seven miles down the highway. He has a large house and after …" Here Norman trailed off, hesitating a few seconds, but then, after he had looked at Edgar who suddenly averted his eyes, he continued. "Well, since Isaac's death he lives alone out there. His dad was all that had been left to him, after all, and he'd never been quite the same after that. And so I thought that maybe you could move in with him 'till you've saved enough money for your own house, and … well, he'd said yes."

Alright, that solved one of his troubles as the motel was anything than a comfortable place to live at, but other than that – he still felt at a loss, somehow. But then he sighed, he'd go that step, he'd visit that guy, and then he'd see where to go from there and what would happen from there.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **July 14th 1939, Friday – Whitechapel Mount, Indiana, Hathaway Academy**

 **Viewpoint of Cameron Chandler**

He'd known that leaving school Thursday morning would be simply impossible, after all, there were a lot of things to do before the buildings could be closed for the next two month, but he'd hoped he'd manage in the afternoon, or in the evening at the latest. After all, it was the summer holidays now, the last school-day had been Wednesday, 12th, and so it _should_ have been possible because it wasn't that the students hadn't cleaned their own classrooms and houses during the last three days of school already and so the teachers had to look after the technical things only, the main buildings and to make sure that everything was closed down.

He hadn't even managed visiting service last Sunday due to the preparations even though he'd hoped he'd be able to because last Sunday the children had been blessed by the pastor. Not the students of Hathaway, of course not, because _they_ were on their way home for the summer holidays now, and surely didn't care about belief, blessings, or church in the first place, but the children from his church, from New Heaven's Valley and from one or another small village nearby.

Yes, he was working as a teacher at a boarding school for difficult children, for difficult boys, actually, but that didn't mean that he couldn't visit New Heaven's Valley for service, after all, it was just the neighbouring town and whenever possible he went to his seven miles afar home-town on Sunday mornings. However, he should have known that Juan Garcia had other plans, the man always had, after all, and so the headmaster had announced just yesterday afternoon that – they were to remain until Friday forenoon after breakfast and a last inspection from the authorities before the building could be closed for two months – a stupid thing in his opinion as they had shut down and locked everything already yesterday evening and only the water and electricity had to be turned off now, a thing the headmaster could just do without them.

"Ready for the holidays, Chandler?" He heard Kermit Frogman asking and looking over he could see the deputy headmaster and music teacher approaching him, carrying a cup of coffee, and not for the first time he wondered if the man's parents had thought it to be a funny joke, or if people from Canada generally were kind of strange, because naming a child Kermit if your surname was Frogman, that simply _had_ to be a joke.

Well, he'd already packed his things two days ago and now only waited for the headmaster to release him until mid-September, until the next school year would start – in other words, yes, he was ready for the holidays. He'd already been ready yesterday afternoon, after he'd closed all the windows and the shutters, and had locked the classrooms, and he could be in his holidays already if Garcia had not kept the entire staff until after the authorities had come to read the water and electric meter.

"Sure." He answered, shrugging his shoulders, because he knew that he better didn't complain about the headmaster in front of his deputy.

"What about you, Hrothgar?" Frogman asked, sitting down at the table in the staff room and looking over at the Chemistry and Biology Professor – who just looked back at him with his cold and hard black eyes for a moment, his left eyebrow raised daringly, before he looked back down at the journal he was reading – _'chemistry today'_ , _'new-age biochemistry'_ or other such science stuff.

"You know, sometimes I don't know if he's just intentionally ignoring us to annoy _us_ , or for his _own_ fun." Frogman laughed, looking back at him, Cameron, and he sighed, wondering why Frogman would even care – and then mention it in front of the man the way he'd just done, something _he_ personally thought was rather rude. Hereweald just was like that, dark, tough, uncommunicative, and a harsh teacher that had the fifth grades crying, a teacher that generally had the lower grade students fleeing him, and the upper grade students avoiding him to the best of their abilities – if they didn't end up in detention with this particular teacher that was known for handing out ten times as much detention as any other teacher at Hathaway, just to keep up his reputation that was quite well known throughout all town.

"Are you planning to visit your relatives in France?" He asked Frogman, just to get the man off the subject. Maybe it was the French part that made Frogman so strange sometimes.

"Of course." Frogman laughed. "It's quite nice to have the sea in front of your door. I'll have two great months in my mansion near Montpellier, like always. What about you?"

"Well, I'll just go home, like always." Cameron answered, taking a sip of the coke, because in his opinion it was too hot for coffee.

"New Heaven's Valley?" Frogman asked, shaking his head. "Really, Chandler! There's nothing in this small one-horse town that is worth being visited for two months – especially in summer when it's ten times as hot as it is up here, not to mention that you're going there on Sundays already."

"I have my family there." He shrugged his shoulders.

"And there I always thought you're unwed." Frogman frowned at him, shaking his head.

"I am." He answered. "My church is my family."

"Ah, sure." The music teacher waved him off, laughing. "I forgot you're the theologian amongst us. Well, I could take you with me, you know? Just so that you'll see something else than this small town down there."

There was a huff coming from the place Hereweald Hrothgar was sitting and looking over at him he met the dark and piercing, cold eyes of the man, the other Professor lifting his eyebrow again and it was clear what he was thinking about Frogman's mansion and yacht, not to mention his offer.

"Thanks for the offer, but I have to decline." He smiled, nearly laughed when thinking about the difference between Kermit Frogman and Hereweald Hrothgar. "But I really will be having great holidays with my church. During the summer months New Heaven's Valley is the most beautiful dale and I can't wait for the first barbeques with freshly baked bread, with potato salad and with slaw, with cheesecake for desert and with the children running about while the sun is shining and the air is wavering in the heat."

"How boring." The man said, sighing. "What a shame, really, we could have so much fun."

"Why don't you ask Hereweald?" He couldn't help asking, grinning at the black clothed man whose dark and hard eyes were now piercing _him_ dangerously.

"If you wish our dear deputy headmaster to die within the next twenty-four hours …" Hereweald growled, slowly, coldly, his voice deep and velvet, a smooth and dark sneer. "I do know one or another chemical that would do the job nice and clean and without being found."

Well, and back was the Professor to reading, as if he hadn't spoken a threat just a moment before, and Cameron smiled at the dark man's sarcasm – even though he wasn't so sure if it really had been sarcasm only, or if he'd rather been dead serious, he wouldn't put it past him – the rumours surrounding the dark man like a thick and heavy cloak were incredulous, after all.

"Going back to Tonopah, Hereweald?" Hendric asked, entering the staff room and concerning the grin that was spreading over his face he was sure that Hendric VanHarkins had heard part of their conversation and especially the Chemistry Professor's last comment.

"Of course not." Hereweald growled, glaring at Hendric as if the Norwegian should know – he was never going to his hometown. "Whitechapel Mount Hospital desperately needs help during the summer months and I have already agreed to the job."

"Need the money, Hrothgar?" Frogman asked and this time he couldn't help rolling his eyes at the man, while Hereweald chose to ignore him after a glare that could have killed the entire staff.

"Why don't you go and bother the headmaster, Frogman?" Hendric asked, not ready to ignore the deputy headmaster as easily as Hereweald did and he guessed that was because the two of them were friends – even though he wouldn't call it a friendship at all as the two of them were as different as even possible – and right now Hendric apparently felt the need to protect Hereweald, even though that was rather laughable as Hereweald would outmatch Hendric in nearly any area and especially when it came to fighting, never mind if it was with words or physically, Hereweald simply didn't need anyone to protect him.

"Well, the children's unit again?" Hendric asked when Frogman was clever enough to drop the subject and he sat down beside the dark and grumpy man.

"Like each year." Hereweald huffed, clearly annoyed. "Those idiot little monsters are always trying to climb the slopes and hillsides during the holidays – not to mention a lot of other stunts they are performing due to having too much time instead of something to learn."

"If you're working here you'll remain in the area, too." Cameron said, smiling. "You could come over for barbeque, once or twice. New Heaven's Valley really is a nice little town."

"Unlikely." Hereweald growled at him. "During my free time I'll enjoy my freedom and solitude."

"Where will you be living during your free time?" He couldn't help asking. "I do have a guest chamber and it's only a few minutes from New Heaven's Valley to Whitechapel Mount."

"I have already rented a hotel room. That – will do." The Chemistry Professor growled, darkly, angrily, and he knew that he best didn't go on with the subject – after all, he should have known the answer, Hereweald Hrothgar was no man for socializing and he wasn't even sure if the man even had any kind of socializing abilities to begin with. A walk through the woods together with Hendric, or the two of them sitting together and drinking two fingers of good old whiskey was the only social activity Hereweald would partake in, ever.

"Oswald?" Hendric asked the history and geography teacher who'd entered the room just behind him.

"I'll visit my brother and my parents for a month." Eckbrecht Oswald said. "They're living in Stuttgart, and I haven't seen them for three years now."

"Germany? Really? Ah, well, I'll enjoy my holidays in France." Kermit Frogman waved them all off, leaning back in his chair and taking another sip of his coffee, and it was clear what he was thinking about Oswald being German – and clearly thinking about the little fact that Germany was on the verge of war, anyway.

"You do that, Kermit." Juan Garcia said, entering the staff room together with the remaining staff. "But not now. The authorities have just arrived. Kermit and O'Hara, meet them in the canteen. Goodwin and Hrothgar, make sure the infirmary is ready for closure. Martin and Castilla, check on the classrooms."

As if he hadn't done that, already, but well, if the headmaster had them double-checking things, then be it, he didn't really care, and he watched the pairs leaving, Hereweald Hrothgar and Adam Goodwin, the medic of the academy to check on the infirmary, most likely a third time, and Kermit Frogman together with Steve O'Hara, the caretaker, to meet the authorities in the canteen. Steve was from Grenada, Mississippi, a slender and wiry, blond man in his forties, who wasn't really tall, but had a great sense of humour and a voice nearly as deep and velvet as Hereweald had – and he was sure that Steve, or his parents, were no Americans because there was a barely noticeable dialect he couldn't allocate, and he was trying for years now.

Frowning he noticed that McDew, Mr. Lloyd McDew, alias Mr. McEvil was missing, the coach most likely being on his holidays already and he huffed when following the headmaster to meet the authorities, too, because he didn't really care about Mr. McEvil having a special status. He was happy that it was a matter of an hour only until he could leave for his well-earned vacation now.

He liked teaching – contrary to Hereweald Hrothgar who hated children and students in particular – but he'd enjoy the two months without seventy-something boys which were changing Hathaway grounds upside down with their stunts and with their mischief, making it a place where you had to watch your ever step, where you had to fight your daily fights with the students, and where you had to be prepared for nearly everything – after all, Hathaway was a boarding school for _difficult_ children.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **July 14th 1939, Friday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Penelope Cleveland**

It was barely nine o'clock in the morning, but already it was hot enough to make the air wavering in the heat, and Penelope remained in the open doorway for a moment when she opened the door to take out the trash, adjusting to the heat. It was no heat like _'you're walking against a wall if you open the door'_ or like _'you better don't open your door at all or the heat will force its way in',_ no – it rather was heat like _'get the cheese into the icebox or you'll have pizza'_ or like _'you won't need a burner to cook eggs sunny side up, no, the engine hood will do'_.

And considering the little fact that Penelope Cleveland and her two sons had only a few months ago moved to New Heaven's Valley, well, she was used to the rather mild Seattle Weather with the Mediterranean climate of warm but not hot summers and mild winters. In Seattle she had barely seen a summer with temperatures above 29 or 30 degrees, they mostly lingered at an average high of 26 or 27 degrees, let it be a degree more or less.

When she'd come here in December, she'd been startled first upon the amount of snow all over the mountains surrounding the dale, but the moment she had arrived New Heaven's Valley, she had been relieved to learn that winter down here in the valley, protected by the surrounding mountains, was similar to winter in Seattle, with barely enough snow to cover the grounds for longer than a few days – but the average heat between 35 and 37 degrees during the summer months was giving her some trouble and sleepless nights, especially if the heat climbed to a high of 39 or even 40 degrees once in a while – which they had for days, for weeks, now.

Damien and Dorian, her sons, they were happy here, with the weather as well as with the surroundings and the other children, but she had still some trouble adjusting.

Closing the lid of the trash-bin she looked down Black Willow Lane.

It was a straight small street with pavements on both sides and average one-family houses which led into Bitternut Hickory Trail leading to the centre of the small Valley and Butternut Path leading to the nearby wooded hillslopes.

Her only next-door neighbour uphill, and the only one living at Butternut Path, was living half a mile uphill in a log cabin close to the woods, an Indian called Wohehiv, and she knew that the Indian was working at the hospital, but she didn't know what exactly he was doing there, most likely cleaning the floors, or being a caregiver. But this was by far the most interesting person in New Heaven's Valley, even though she didn't really know anything about him – but at least he was one of the very few people here in this small town who didn't plead with God for forgiveness or whatever on his knees, or something like that.

Well, two houses down Black Willow Lane were living Benjamin Forester and his daughter, the girl, Abigail, being her sons' age, both of them Christians – as if this was something special here – and she could watch them leaving to visit their church more often than just on Sunday mornings – at least that was what she thought they were doing, considering one or another comment they'd given, even though she didn't see a reason as to why they would be away all Sunday and during the week, too, if they just visited church.

Well, the guy living next to her was a guy called Diesel, Diesel Sanchez if she was correct, but everyone just called him Diesel, even the postman, Mitchell Roberts, who knew everyone – unsurprisingly, seeing as he was bringing letters to everyone – but well, she didn't like Diesel, the man was just too unkempt for her liking.

Then there was Gwynneth McFlaherty over the road, her husband Morgan, and their three children Meghan, Angus and Bradyn. If someone thought that this surely would be the only Irish family in the American small town, then this one was definitely wrong, because the house downhill belonged to the Uí Ceallaigh family, Kayleigh and Dewayne Uí Ceallaigh and their son Conner. Gwynneth McFlaherty, nee Uí Ceallaigh and Dewayne Uí Ceallaigh were siblings. Gwynneth had married Morgan some years ago, and she couldn't help smiling whenever she saw the other woman that was sparkling with life – even though their youngest son, Angus, was mental retarded, somehow. It was a normal family anyway, a happy family, and she couldn't make out a difference in their love to their children, they loved each alike, even the eleven year old Angus who rather reminded her at a three year old sometimes.

Well, and the next house belonged to the parents of Gwynneth and Dewayne, Caitlyn and Odhran Quinn Uí Domhnalláin – she was always calling them O'Donnellan as their real name was just too complicated to her – and their youngest daughter Alannah. She knew that Caitlyn O'Donnellan's husband, Gwynneth' and Dewayne's father, had died sometime during the first world war and some years later she'd married again and then they'd gotten the now eleven year old Alannah, a child they had not planned but that had, just come, even though she wondered if they were living in medieval times, seeing that there was something like prevention, but well, they had the girl even though they were – in her opinion – _far too_ old for raising children, after all, they surely must be over sixty now, surely close to seventy, even, both having grandchildren already. But well, that was not her business, she'd just have to teach that girl the moment she'd start New Heaven's High, what would be just next year.

For a moment she wondered if Rebecca Mac Guaire was related to one of those Irish families. Rebecca and her husband Noah, from Chestnut Oak Avenue, were friends of Sarah Jayden, her colleague at New Heaven's High, the local high school and Sarah had dragged her along for a cup of coffee when she'd visited them once.

But well, maybe they weren't related at all, because she'd read that the name Mac Guaire – some people would change their name to MacGyver, now – was descended from a king named Uí Fiachrach who'd died 663 a.d., while the other Irish family in Black Willow Lane wasn't related to that kingdom.

Looking over at number three she could watch Bradyn McFlaherty, the oldest of the three children, opening the door, the boy taking the garbage bag out and whistling the melody to the song "the night they drove old Dixie down".

"Good morning, Bradyn." She called over.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cleveland." Came the answer, the boy waving at her happily, and once more she was surprised by the civility of the children in this one horse town, all of them – and she was a teacher here, she would know.

It was a strange town anyway.

She was sure that 95 percent of the town were Christians, and not only Christians by name, no, but real Christians, strange people, those who not only visited service on Sunday mornings but spent time with their fellow Christians as much as possible, and there were always some people in their church – a large building, but not one of those old buildings the Catholic Church built everywhere, being cold, dark and threateningly, no. It was a large and modern building that looked open, warm and inviting. There was a large parking space and a just as large yard. Then there was a large garden in front of the building and from what she had seen while passing the building in her car, there was a large lawn behind the building, too, with herbs planted along the fences – and it was the only church in the town, something she'd never understood. She was rather used to cities where several different churches were rivalling amongst each other, rivalling over the poor souls they could lure into their net.

Well, the story of it she'd heard already, soon after she'd moved here.

For some time, before World War One, it had been a town with a lot of trouble, beginning from the misuse of marijuana, up to drug abuse, and even Cocaine, but most especially the town had suffered from alcohol misuse. Gang delinquency had taken the upper hand, ruling the small town with the name Devil's Dale, surrounded by the wilderness of Mount Eagle, Mount Cheyenne, Devil's Peak, Grand Thunderbolt, Whitechapel Mount and Little Bear's Peak. There was no way out of – or into – the town avoiding one of those mountains you had to climb or descend – protection or a curse, Penelope didn't really know.

However, soon petty crime had changed into organized crime rivalling with gang delinquency, and apparently the small town had been short of being exterminated and wiped out of all maps, being destroyed by all those gangs.

And then it had happened.

People said it had been a thunderstorm in the year 1907, quickly approaching over the hilltop of Grand Thunderbolt – nothing to worry about so far, after all, that particular mountain hat its name because of heavy thunderstorms threatening the area regularly and people were quite used to seeing the heavy thunrderstorm clouds approaching from over Mount Thunderbolt. But then a heavy rainstorm had come from Mount Eagle, bringing hail, too, and another thunderstorm had raged over Devil's Peak, meeting the thunderstorm coming from Grand Thunderbolt directly above Devil's Dale and hell had broken loose.

Within thirty minutes more than half of the town had been in flames – and Mitchell Roberts, the Postman who'd been a young boy back then, he'd said he was sure that those gangs and criminals had set a lot of the houses aflame, too, during that night, just because they'd thought it fun – and a lot of people had died, really a lot. Well, apparently people had feared they'd _all_ die, and at one point or another, they had met in the town's hall, and after one old woman had started to pray, asking God to spare their lives, to forgive their faithlessness they'd all shown for all those decades they hadn't thought of their Lord, others had joined, and it hadn't taken long until all those meeting in the town's hall had been praying.

In the end, after that night, after the thunderstorm had been gone and those people had left the town's hall, carefully and unsurely of what would await them, the entire town had been destroyed except of a few houses on the outskirts – and the town hall. Everything around them had been reduced to rubble and those criminals setting the houses aflame in their fiery party of infernos, they were all gone, either dead, being killed by either the bolts or the flames, or having fled the dale.

It had been during that very same hour, after coming out of their shock when they'd realized the entirety of the damage that had happened, that they'd started thanking God for their survival, and for sparing the town's hall, the only building in the center of the dale that had been standing, still, and for listening to their prayers, and it had been during that very same day, that those survivors had renamed the town to New Heaven's Valley and over the next days, weeks and months, they had formed groups, demolishing the ruins and rebuilding house for house. But the first house they'd built had been a church and there they had started studying the bible. They had invited other Christians, pastors, and preachers, teachers they could learn from if they had questions, and now, thirty-two years later, well, Penelope Cleveland couldn't help feeling that it had become a place that nearly got on her nerves with all those Christians here and Christianity there, with all the Bible talking all day long and wherever she went, but she had a job, she had a house and she could care for her children after her husband had died in that car crash more than five years ago.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Bradyn** **McFlaherty**

Bradyn was throwing the bag into the dustbin beside the house, whistling the melody to "the night they drove old Dixie down", the newest song in the hit list, while he already thought about the next few weeks.

His friends and he would have great summer holidays, watching girls and playing baseball, climbing the steep slopes of the surrounding hills, going to the town with their parents, and enjoying ice cream and milk shakes while their mothers would sit in the sun, discussing dinner or reading a good book – if there existed something like a good book. In his opinion there was no good book, because a book held written words and you had to _read_ them.

And the only acceptable books were comic books anyway!

However, while their mothers would be playing housewife and trying to enjoy the sun at the same time, their fathers would sit in the shadowy area of the gardens or in the town, beneath a parasol or a solar panel, he didn't know yet what would be there, discussing over one thing or another and making great plans for the next few years – of which fifty percent wouldn't come to pass anyway.

Putting the lid of the dustbin back on the container he wondered if he should ask his mum for a cup of ice cream later. He'd help her with the dishes and maybe he'd clean his room, and then she'd surely not say no.

Well, because the two best places here in town were Pop's Soda Shoppe, down American Chestnut Avenue, where you got the best sodas, soft drinks, milk shakes and ice creams, and the church at the corner American Chestnut Avenue and Hawthorn Trail, where you could play with other children, where you could do your homework – not now during the holidays though – and where you could just sit around and chat with the other teens, there was no place in all New Heaven's Valley and surroundings like those two places and he was there real often.

Maybe he could ask Ann-Kathryn Henson out for ice cream. She was living at the corner Black Willow Lane and Bitternut Hickory Trail, the trail leading to Little Bear Peak, one of the hills he'd climb first during the summer holidays. He'd done so last year, and it's been really great. He'd tried to climb Mount Eagle last year, too, but the Cheyenne living up there had caught him and had sent him home. Really, Wohehiv was a Cheyenne, why couldn't he live at Hawthorn Trail that led to Mount Cheyenne? No, he had to live at Butternut Path leading to Mount Eagle. Sure, he'd climbed Mount Cheyenne instead, but Mount Eagle was a dream of all boys. They said that the great Eagles had their nests up there and all year long you could see them circling the mountain top, especially during the summer months. He'd do it this year, even though he knew that it was forbidden – he just had to make good plans to avoid the Indian this time.

However, Ann-Kathryn was the girl he was looking for.

Over the road, just two houses down Black Willow Lane was Abigail Forester living with her father, but he wasn't interested in her, because – well, she was cute, but just not the right girl for him, he knew, and so Ann-Kathryn was the girl he was dreaming about. Sure, there was Elizabeth Henson, too, Ann-Kathryn's little sister, but Elizabeth was strange, really strange. For example, the girl was talking with the plants at their church – believe it or not – and that was only _one_ example. And she was too small for her age, too. Not that it would trouble him, surely not, after all, Elizabeth was only two years younger than he was, but she looked like a small kid and what would people say if he asked out a kid? Not to mention that Elizabeth was black-haired, had dark brown eyes and had much darker skin than the fair Ann-Kathryn. No, no, Ann-Kathryn was the girl he was looking for. Not for playing with, surely not, because who would be playing with girls, but for asking her out for ice-cream, for milk-shakes or for a glass of coke whenever he got his allowance on Saturdays.

If he wanted to play around, then he'd be playing with other boys, mostly with Stinky and Conner, even though he didn't really like Stinky, but the other boy just followed him if he saw him outside and he just didn't have the heart to send him off, because somehow he reminded him at his little brother, Angus, who was – just behind.

Sure, he could be playing with Meghan and with Angus, but they were his siblings and playing with them wasn't really fun. Alannah, his much younger aunt, she was a girl and playing with girls was so uncool, you couldn't imagine! Not to mention that playing with family was only half as fun as was playing with friends. The only one from his family he was striving through the area with, was Conner Uí Ceallaigh.

Often Damien and Dorian from over the road were with them, too, and they were really fun. Well, and seeing that now were the summer holidays he finally could invite them to visit their church, because now they wouldn't have an excuse – such as, _'we've had school all day long, that's enough for one day'_ , or _'Sundays are the only days we're able to sleep in'_ , or, _'Sundays are our only free days'_ , or similar things. No, because they could sleep in every day, now, and they had a lot of free days without school amd homework now, so – they could easily visit their church and service on Sundays now and that would be so cool.

Well, this afternoon, after lunch – he couldn't help shuddering at the thought of lunch – he'd go and watch the Indian's house. If he knew when he was home and when he left, then he'd be able to sneak past him, and he'd take Conner with him, because Conner was looking forwards to climbing Mount Eagle just as much as was he, and if he had Conner with him, then he wouldn't have to do this alone.

Maybe he should go to Conner for lunch? At least, he'd be able to know what it was for lunch, then, contrary to his own home – and it was his little brother's fault.

Two weeks ago Angus had been awake early. Everyone had been sleeping deep and sound, still, and so Angus had gone exploring the house. It wasn't that his little brother wouldn't know the house, after all, he was eleven years old. People always mistook him for seven or eight, but he was eleven, and he could just have turned on the television, or taken a good book – and Angus could read, he knew that. There were enough comic books he'd missed and then found in his brother's room, after all.

However, Angus had gone exploring, had found the pantry, and he'd had his field day.

His mother, just as his aunts and his granny, had always an overly filled pantry, the shelves filled with noodle-packages, with cans, and with other dry food, with preserving glasses and with other stuff, but especially with cans. His mother had told him the story about the thunderstorm in 1907, and that after the thunderstorm and the destruction of the town, people didn't have much to eat. And since that time a lot of people had at least a full pantry.

"I know, I should trust in God providing us with what we need, but I'm sure that he won't mind a full pantry." His mother always said, smiling at him, and he was thinking the same.

However, Angus had had a nice and boring-free morning in the pantry, starting with the spaghetti and pulling them out of their packages, playing Mikado with them, and then he'd taken the cans and had pulled off all their labels – really all of them, sticking them at the walls, using mum's maple syrup for glue. His mum hadn't gotten the labels off the walls, even. He didn't mind _that_ , but since Angus had pulled off all the labels from the cans – now it was … well, food á la surprise.

Well, after the lenses with tomato-soup or the apricots with caned sausages – or whatever strange things it would be for lunch, he'd go watching Wohehiv's house, trying to find out when the man was home and when he was out. He'd pack some sandwiches and a few apples – anything but canes – and then he'd look for a nice and comfortable place in the woods where he – or they, if Conner came with him – could wait for a few hours, and they'd do that until they knew the man's routine. And then they'd have to pray, too, so that God made their parents not realizing what they were up to because he knew that they wouldn't be too happy about it and most likely he'd end up with being grounded for the remainder of his summer holidays – so they would have to pray. But then they could climb Mount Eagle.

He wouldn't be the first to try, but he knew that he'd be the first to really manage, because he knew that he was good enough. He'd climbed Little Bear's Peak a few times now, and last year he'd climbed Mount Cheyenne and Whitechapel Mount. Devil's Peak and Grand Thunderbolt were out of limits, closed off, even though he knew that he'd climb this ones, one day, too, he'd find a way.

But this year he'd climb Mount Eagle, and this year he'd manage.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter three: a short introduction of the church and two boys who start with their plans …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	3. don't you see that unseen war?

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.  
Child neglect as well as child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _Well, after the lenses with tomato-soup or the apricots with caned sausages – or whatever strange things it would be for lunch, he'd go watching Wohehiv's house, trying to find out when the man was home and when he was out. He'd pack some sandwiches and a few apples – anything but canes – and then he'd look for a nice and comfortable place in the woods where he – or they, if Conner came with him – could wait for a few hours, and they'd do that until they knew the man's routine. And then they'd have to pray, too, so that God made their parents not realizing what they were up to because he knew that they wouldn't be too happy about it and most likely he'd end up with being grounded for the remainder of his summer holidays – so they would have to pray. But then they could climb Mount Eagle._

 _He wouldn't be the first to try, but he knew that he'd be the first to really manage, because he knew that he was good enough. He'd climbed Little Bear's Peak a few times now, and last year he'd climbed Mount Cheyenne and Whitechapel Mount. Devil's Peak and Grand Thunderbolt were out of limits, closed off, even though he knew that he'd climb this ones, one day, too, he'd find a way._

 _But this year he'd climb Mount Eagle, and this year he'd manage._

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter three –** **don't you see that unseen war**

 **Or – a first view at the church**

 **July 14th 1939, Friday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty**

"Won't you go outside and get a few peppermint leaves for me, Angus?" Gwyneth asked her youngest son and with a happy smile the boy hopped away, leaving the building and she knew that it would take at least fifteen minutes until her son was back – even though it was a task done in less than five minutes only. But like all eleven year old children Angus would find this and that, would chat with this child and that child, would meet a cat, a bird or a worm to chat with, and until he was back, it would be a quarter to two – if he didn't forget the leaves at all.

But well, she didn't mind. It was half an hour until the women would arrive for tea and coffee, and she'd just look after the boy in a few minutes, reminding him at the leaves. Until then she'd just put the flowers she'd brought on the tables in the lobby, making sure that they had enough and good water.

It was hot and dry for weeks now, plants and animals suffering even more than the people, and not one single drop of rain had given relief for a long time now. She'd brought the flowers from her garden, some of the last flowers that had survived the heat, and she'd make sure that they'd not be wasted within a few hours because of lack of water after she'd watered them so carefully for weeks and weeks now, making sure that they'd survive the heat and drought.

The first floor of the building consisted in three parts – the lobby where people could meet in general and to all times, the service hall, and the kitchen – and the lobby it was where she now put the tables together and rearranged the chairs to fit around them.

Generally this Friday-afternoon-tea-party, if you could name it like that, was for all the women from the small town – and surrounding areas – to chat, to pray for each other, to get one or another problem solved, or to find new ideas, but in the beginning she'd really feared that only the – well, _'older generation'_ for the lack of a better word, would come and visit – what really had been the case for some time. But she'd accepted it, had given it in God's hands, and meanwhile, there were old ladies who brought their friends, and young ladies who brought their children, it had become a three–generation–meeting if you so wished.

But well, the lobby was always filled with people – never mind what, there was always someone here.

During the year there were the younger children visiting kindergarten in the building behind the church, and there were the children visiting primary school in the upper rooms of the church, and during the breaks they all often met in the lobby, saying hello to the people meeting there for tea or coffee, for prayer or for bible study, or for just having a goo time together.

On Saturday mornings just after sunrise some children were meeting for Bible Study. At first they'd just met for – meeting, talking, drinking coke and roller-skating in the lobby as the floor of the large hall was sleek and plain and they'd had a lot of fun using the tables and chairs for slalom. Until one early morning her husband had some work to do in the church. Morgan, her husband had come, watching the scene for some time, and then he'd stepped in their way, stopping them, effectively, startling them, and people still say that he'd had the most crazy idea ever.

"I don'care ye skating, I don'even mind ye skating here 'n church, but if ye do, then ye do it with a bible in yer hand." He'd said, causing the teens to look at him as if he'd gone mad and for some time there had been no sound, until –

"A Bible?" One of the boys had asked, blinking at him in shock and with wide eyes.

"Mr. McFlaherty?" Another boy had asked, bearing nearly the same expression of shock on his face as his friend.

"Tha'the deal." Morgan had answered, seriously, and up to this day he's saying that back then a picture had already formed in his mind. "Ye wanna use tha'nice floor for skating, ye'll do it while studying the Bible and now go home to think over it, all of ye."

Well, that surely had caused some commotion.

She remembered how Leonard Roberts had come home that Saturday morning, still shocked, and she remembered because she'd been baking bread with Mariah – they were still baking bread on Saturday mornings, bread for some poor families in the town, bread for the church, and bread for Mariah's and her families.

"Mom!" Leonard had called out, storming into the kitchen as if he'd broken something while wearing those – in her opinion – too dangerous roller-skates. "Mom! I need a bible, really. Imagine, we've been skating in the church-hall, when Mr. McFlaherty came in – oh, good morning Mrs. McFlaherty – and then he'd –"

"What do you mean, you've been skating in the church-hall?" Mariah had asked, turning towards her son, her fists resting on her hips and her face like a dark storm-cloud. "And would you mind talking slowly and quietly so that people actually have a chance to understand what you're babbling about?"

"Never mind that, mom, really." The boy had said, frantically shaking his head and waving his hands 'no' at the same time as if a simple headshake wouldn't be enough. "Really, mom! I need a bible, now, 'cause Mr. McFlaherty has said we could go on using the lobby in the church if we're doing it while studying the bible, please, mom, can I have a bible?"

Well, she'd been really surprised, she had to admit that, because back then, in 1929, children had come to the church on Sundays for service, but that's been it. They'd never dreamed of Bible Study, Prayer Groups, or going on camps like today's youth. They'd had other things on their minds besides of school and those things surely had been anything but church-things.

" _May_ I have." Mariah had answered with a sigh. "Well, my bible is on the table in the parlor, you may take this one."

"You don't understand, I need one for myself, mom, please." The boy had answered, feverishly shaking his head. "Couldn't I just take my savings and buy a bible down the road at the stationary? Please, mom?"

She could watch how Mariah's face had softened, how all breath she'd saved for a good tongue lashing had left her, and how her eyes had become sparkling, and the next moment Mariah had taken the storage tin from the shelf above the oven. She'd given the boy the money for a bible and a moment later he'd been gone with a "thanks, mom, love you, mom" before she could see the boy hasting down the street on his roller skates when she looked out of the window, leaving back two startled women, Mariah and her, because never before had one of the teens or children demanded to have an own bible for Bible Study.

Well, Leonard – and some other kids – had gone back to the church at the very same day, just an hour after Morgan had sent them on their ways they'd been back, cornering her husband with the bibles in their hands, and asking them to help them in their studies, and she'd nearly laughed when her husband had come home for lunch, telling her the unbelievable story how he'd made a Bible-Study-Group out of a bunch of roller-skater-teens and how James, from the stationary, had told him the just as unbelieving story that he'd sold seven bibles just that very morning and to some teenage boys no less.

Well, now – ten years later – there still were teens learning in the bible on Saturday mornings and just like back then, those teens often came back after lunch to either continue in their study or to meet for a coke, to watch a movie or to go to the Pop's Soda Shoppe together for a milkshake or an ice cream … but generally spoken, the Saturday was considered as the _'teens-day'_ at New Heaven's Valley church, and on Saturdays the church was considered a Bible School.

However, on Sundays there was breakfast in the church, service, and then lunch. After that the youth went upstairs to play games in the classrooms or to plan one thing or another – and often some mischief – while the older generation sat together to chat and to simply have a good time with each other and with God. From Monday to Friday people were working while on Saturday mornings most of them had work in their houses, and even though most of the villagers met during the week, too, visiting house-groups or similar, or were meeting to help their neighbours or friends with one thing or another to repair, they all were grateful for sitting together on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, to relax and to have relationship of a different kind.

And honestly, a lot of them – and she didn't exclude herself here – were so busy during the week that they stole just here and there some time for spending with God. A prayer here before meals, a "good morning, Lord, slept well?" there and a "good night, Lord, thanks for the day and sleep well" then, an "oh, thanks Lord" for a traffic sign that went green the moment you crossed the street and half an hour of silent time or half an hour of bible reading, if even that. So, why should they sit at home, alone even, while they just as well could meet and sit together in their church on Saturdays and on Sundays? Whatever reason for did they have a church if not for meeting and having a good time with God, their Lord and amongst each other? Had not God made man for just that? For having relations?

She knew very well that they didn't need a church for having a healthy relationship with God, sure, that they could have the same relationship at home, while walking through the woods, or while sitting in the car. She did know that, but anyway she was glad that they indeed did have the church where they could meet, because not only did it simplify things, but also – it was God's church and God looked well upon them or the small valley wouldn't be as well off as it actually was.

She also knew that it wasn't common, people being in church all day long – even though she knew that there were some churches, one of them being a befriend church in Virginia even, which had already had barbeques and coffee-meetings, lunch and potluck on Sunday afternoons after service during times when a revolver had ruled the dry and barren lands, during a time when cowboys had led entire herds of cow hundreds of miles over the land, and during a time when the streets had consisted in dust and dirt only. However, she was happy the way it was, and what did they have to lose? God was with them and kept His hands over the church to protect it, and He held His hands beneath their church to carry it through difficult times or decisions, too.

Everything was alright and perfect the way it was – _'and then there was the big bang and the world exploded'_ – she couldn't help thinking, shaking her head about her own silliness.

Well, and while on Tuesdays and Thursdays she was there to open the church together with Kayleigh, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays Caitlyn and Odhran Uí Domhnalláin, her mother and stepfather, were in the church for everyone who came, for all those who needed prayer, for all those who were searching, for all those who liked reading in the bible, and for all those who just wanted to come by for a cup of coffee, too. For example there was the old Lady Beatrice, Lady of Cornwall.

Of course the old lady Beatrice was not really the Lady of Cornwall, at least not _the_ Lady of Cornwall, but she and her husband Arthur, Earl of Cornwall – well, they just were Beatrice and Arthur Cornwall and when they had moved to New Heaven's Valley back then, in 1907, shortly after the great thunderstorm, they'd been strange – and still were, she had to admit that – but really nice.

They'd been only passing through when apparently, God had told them to stop, and she knew very well that they both were people who really obeyed God's word, never mind what He told them. Well, back then it had been like –

"we need more bricks …"

"we have no more bricks …"

"alright, go to the stonemason in Whitechapel Mount City …"

"I've been there yesterday for curb stones, we won't get anything from him 'cause we have no money …"

And then –

"Sorry, mister, you need bricks? Let me get you some while my Lady prepares a few sandwiches in your nice, new church over there …"

And so, Arthur Cornwall had, no, not simply given them the money for the brick stones while his wife had just taken two of the nearby women beneath their arms, leading the baffled women to the church, no, he'd just taken his own car, had been driving to Whitechapel Mount City and when he'd come back he'd had a trailer with not only bricks but curbs, too, and close behind had been following the stonemason with his large truck, filled with more bricks and curb stones, and the promise that they'd get as much as they needed.

And the other nearly unbelieving thing had been – at this particular day they hadn't had sandwiches at all in their church, nor anything they could use to place on any sandwiches to begin with and already they'd been worrying about that day's dinner.

The church had already been built and now they had started re-building the houses. Some of the people were sleeping in some ruins, others were sleeping in the church on the floor. Food, they generally kept in the church and meals had been held there, too – it had soon become their kind of _'headquarters'_ and of course the women knew what was stored there and what food they lacked, and her mother had told her that there had been none to nothing at all. A handful of potatoes had been left from the last harvesting of the surrounding fields and a few apples but they had no corn left, no cans, and not even some eggs had been left from the few surviving biddies as they had been in shock still and wouldn't lay eggs right then.

However, while Beatrice Cornwall had led those women to the church she'd simply thanked God for the food and for the stones her husband would surely bring soon, and when they'd looked through the baskets the women had stored in the kitchen, there had been bread, butter, ham, cheese and tomatoes even – the town had had a small feast that evening.

Well, and then if you take the above-average courtesy, their friendliness and kindness, their generosity, their handsomeness, they just as well could be an Earl and a Lady of Cornwall, so what? _She_ surely didn't mind.

However, Lady Beatrice could just as well ask her husband to drive her to the bakery, to the butcher's, to the grocery or to the stationary, and Arthur would do it right away, but she preferred walking there and then carrying her bag home. And on her way home, she always took the longer route, walking a small detour so that she could visit the church that lay midway on her way home. She always sat down to catch her breath, to drink a cup of tea, to say one small prayer or another, to discuss a chapter in the bible, and to thank God for being there before she went back on her way home.

Sometimes she came alone, and sometimes she came along together with Mrs. Hollister or one of the Hollister children, a small family of four Mr. and Mrs. Cornwall were housing for a few years now even though they didn't have much themselves – but well, God had always cared for them one way or another, even though she didn't really know how – or how the Earl had managed to convince the stonemason – and other outward craftsmen – to help them back then in 1907.

However, Lady Beatrice was the nicest old lady she'd ever met – except of Caitlyn, her mother, of course, who was close friends with Lady Beatrice anyway, but well, she guessed that anyone would think that _'mom's the best'._

"What about those peppermint leaves, Angus?" She called out, looking outside the kitchen window.

But of course the boy was playing between the roses and peppermint with – and she was sure about that – a worm. Well, she'd just pick the leaves herself and she took the cooking water from the stove, took a cloth for the leaves.

Anyway, other daily visitors were Ryan and Ethan Diego, two boys from the poor families in New Heaven's Valley, and they came two times a day. Ethan was fourteen and Ryan was twelve – and the other children called him Stinky. She didn't like it and whenever she heard it, she told those children off, but they did it anyway. At first the boy had been uncomfortable with that – _'nickname'_ – but somehow he seemed to have gotten used to it and now he even answered to that name. She'd find a way to get that nickname off the boy, one day, she'd promised that to herself.

Well, they came in the early mornings, on their way to school – to look who'd be there and to say "hello", at first. Those two were just like that, curious to no end, curious as to who'd be there, curious about any news people might amuse them with, and maybe, just maybe, there might be a piece of bread left from the day before, or an apple.

She knew that they had breakfast at home, one of the few meals a day they had at all, but she also knew that they didn't have a lunch box and so, one day, she'd brought two boxes and prepared lunch for them. The boxes had been missing the next morning, when they'd come again, but she'd just given them another boxes with the words "bring them back after school before you go home" and that had worked very well.

Soon Finn had come with them too, Finn Abrahamsen, another boy from a poor family and she knew that they were very grateful for the help they got, the Diegos, the Abrahamsens, the Sullivans and the Joneses. Well, and so they all came in the mornings to get their lunch box, and after school to bring the box and to get a plate of soup or spaghetti. They did their homework here at the church, and then they played with other children which came once in a while.

During the summer holidays less children came, or at least they came to different times, because first they slept in, then they took their time in having breakfast, they had to help their parents in the house, or in the garden, on the fields, and only after that they came to the church for meeting their friends if they had some time left – if they were not climbing one hillside or another.

Leaving the building she smiled when seeing Angus standing by the road, waving like mad and nearly hopping with excitement when a motorbike came by and her smile widened when the motorbike stopped in front of the boy and the driver turned off the engine. It was Gabe Heavensville, one of the preachers and the "guy that had come because of the youth centre".

About five years ago the church had started a youth centre just behind the church – a large building with several rooms where the kids could meet for playing, for doing their homework and for lazing around. But well – if you had a youth centre, then you soon attracted a lot of criminal teens, too, often coming over from the neighbouring towns. Drugs started, brawls and only God knew what else, and of course it's been the same with the youth centre they had started here in New Heaven's Valley.

Well, bearing the last disaster in mind, back then in 1907 when the small town had been terrorized by some gangs and other criminal youths, they had reacted rather sooner than later, this time, and had asked for professional help. And Jonathan Bishop, the pastor from Indianapolis Christ Centre, had recommended a friend of him to overtake responsibility over the youth centre, a pastor who'd often worked with teens – and only a week later he had arrived – a guy called Gabe.

A guy called Gabe, just Gabe – not Gabriel Anything and not even Gabe Anything, but – just Gabe, arriving on a motorbike, wearing Jeans, a sleeveless shirt and a biker's vest, long blond hair and tattoos all over his arms, and the moment the wheels of his bike had touched the ground of the small town the news had spread like wildfire – a rocker had arrived for the youth centre, a rocker of all people, and the townspeople had thrown up their hands in pure horror – a rocker of all people, really! How could they recommend this particular person! Were those teens not out of control enough already? Did they really wish to get them back to 1907?

"Just wait and give him a chance." Noah Mac Guaire and Benjamin Foster, the pastors back then had said. "And do not judge people by their appearance."

Well, only later had they learned that Gabe was a nickname for Gabriel and that his surname was Heavensville. Gabriel Heavensville – that sounded more like the name of a man of God, some of the older people had whispered in private. Never mind his clothes, and never mind the bike and all those tattoos, alone that name was reason enough for that guy being God's guy – until Benjamin had told them a piece of his mind concerning being blinded by prejudices, by clothes, by names or by the house one owned. There'd been several people leaving church in pondering silence, that Sunday.

Well, already the next morning the sign _'youth center'_ had been gone and Gabe was attaching a new sign that read _'youth church'_ , and the teens from New Heaven's Valley had said that "that cool new pastor" had annoyed the criminals out of the building with his talking about God and with his bible reading – though some of them had stayed, like Andrew Fitzpatrick and Oliver Sweeny who'd turned towards Jesus within a few conversations only and now they were young men that played in their worship-band, Oliver playing the drums and Andrew playing the guitar while Ellie, the wife of Edgar who worked at Norman's Garage, was the lead voice.

However, of course it hadn't been as easy as this and Gwyneth knew that Gabe had been through a lot of discussions, arguments and even attacks coming from those criminals, and she knew that Oliver and Andrew just as well had been attacked by them some times after they'd left that gang and turned towards Jesus, but in the end they'd managed anyway, because God had helped them.

"Wanna have a ride 'round the block, Angus?" Gabe asked and she smiled at the nod the boy gave away hastily.

"Well, then go ask your mum." Gabe then said, pointing at her, Gwynneth, and she just waved the boy off. Of course she wouldn't deny the boy the ride.

Every day Gabe came by with the motorbike, either by their house or the church, depending on where they resided at that particular time, just to take Angus for a ride because he knew that those were the very few moments when the boy was really happy, just like any other normal child, forgetting anything, forgetting who he was, even.

Angus was a strange child, far behind other children his age and even though he was very intelligent, people thought he was stupid. However, he was acting a bit strange sometimes – like for example standing by the street, waiting for motorbikes and waving them like mad as if they were the best things on earth. And it wasn't that he was waving any motorbike because Gabe always took him on a ride, no, Angus had already been waving any passing motorbike before Gabe had come to the town. No, it rather was the other way 'round and Gabe had started taking Angus for a ride because the boy had been standing by the road, waving him whenever he'd passed.

Watching the small figure of her son climbing up the large bike she shook her head when the boy barely was able to run his short arms around the man's waist to get a hold, grasping the folds of the vest Gabe was wearing, and it rather looked like a guy on a bike carrying a monkey on his back, really.

Sighing she turned to the bed with the roses and the peppermint when Gabe started the bike and she knew that it was at least fifteen or twenty minutes until the two of them were back – if they didn't stop at the Pop's Soda Shoppe for ice cream. She'd get the peppermint leaves, herself, and then she'd cook the tea.

For a moment she frowned when she noticed something else growing between the roses and the peppermint, and she already stretched out her hand to plug the weed from the earth when she noticed that it wasn't weed at all but Lavender that started growing there, and her frown deepened – because who'd planted it there? Because she hadn't and she knew that Caitlyn hadn't either, nor Kayleigh, and other than them there was no woman who'd plant things in the beds of the church.

Sure, some people would plug a strand of weed or pick a piece of trash from the beds, the lawn or the court, but they wouldn't plant things. She'd planted the roses, simply because she loved them, and she knew that Caitlyn had planted the peppermint for tea. And Kayleigh had put berries into the beds behind the house, red currants, gooseberries and raspberries. And this year she'd even planted tomatoes, too, because there was enough room in the beds and she'd gotten more tomato plants than she could have put in her own garden. She'd brought some to Lady Beatrice, but still she'd had some left.

But well, Lavender was one of her favourite plants anyway and she loved the smell of it – and you could use it for so many things, too – so, in the end she didn't really care. She'd just leave it there and taking the peppermint leaves she'd picked, she turned, went back to the building and to the kitchen.

The water was hot and she could prepare the tea, the tables were ready, with napkins and flowers she'd picked in her garden, and so the women could come. She was looking forward to the afternoon, because this afternoon the subject would be about how the first apostles had lived, about how they had helped others, about what they'd done and about how they had shared everything.

 _'And they continued steadfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers, and fear came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were done by the apostles. And all that believed were together, and had all things common, and sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men as every man had need. And they continued daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, and having favour with all the people. And the Lord added to the church daily such as should be saved.'_

They were far from that, and she knew it.

They often were meeting, and they had a good time amongst each other and with God. They were praying, they were studying the bible, and they were breaking the bread. They were sharing food and other things with the families that didn't have much money and they were teaching each other and the children – and God surely was pleased to some point, or he wouldn't bless them the way He did. But the wonder and signs the apostles had done, well, the people in New Heaven's Valley did not half as much wonders as the apostles back then had done. No, they were far from being real apostles, and she knew it.

There were of course Noah and Gabe, two of their pastors, and God was doing a lot of wonders through them. And then there were Mitchell and Leonard Roberts, two typical evangelists who really reached a lot of people – and not only in New Heaven's Valley, but all over the country. Mitchell, the postman, sometimes simply added a small verse to the daily mail he was delivering, even to those who had no letter that day, and his son, Leonard was a young missionary, even though he didn't work abroad but was travelling to schools and firms, telling them about God and Jesus, about what Jesus had done and about the war between good and bad.

"Don't you see that unseen war going on out there?" Leonard always said. "Can't you see the demons fighting angels? Can't you see Satan sitting over there and waiting for just another moment to attack and overthrow the kingdom of God? Can't you feel the tension that's all around us – the fight between good and bad? We need to act, we need to support God and his people, because everything we do, never mind how small it is will be aid for God and his side, even though it is a small smile only we have on our lips for our neighbors, even though it is just one small prayer we say. But the more we do, the more we throw Satan and his demons down from wherever he is residing."

And well, she knew that Leonard was right. A barely eighteen year old boy, but he had more wisdom than some of the old men amongst them and he admired the boy's courage and faith, because whenever he set off to Indianapolis, to Chicago, to New York or to Washington – or any other big city – he never got money for his work, he never planned his trip longhand before and he never asked for this or that help, always trusting God to get him there safely and back home in one piece, always trusting God that He'd provide him with whatever he'd need and never had he suffered need.

Well, and then there were of course Caitlyn and Odhran. Caitlyn, her mother, was seventy-two years old and her step-father was seventy-eight years old already – but anyway they were as fit as was she herself and there were several people in New Heaven's Valley who would never go on a hiking tour with her parents as they wouldn't be able keeping up with them. Not to mention that despite their age they were still holding children's service and they were still playing with the children of the small town, caring for them and whenever there was a summer-camp – or any other camp, that was, then they were there, too.

They and the Earl and his Lady of Cornwall – if there were true apostles existing on this earth, nearly two thousands of years after Jesus had died, then Caitlyn and Odhran Ui Domhnalláin, and Beatrice and Arthur Cornwall were those apostles.

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 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Jean McIory**

For some strange reason his eyes were drawn to the surrounding woods over and over again, and he felt himself unable to cast his eyes off the woods, even though he didn't understand why.

There was nothing – nothing except for the familiar grassland to the west side of his land, the fields to the east and Devil's Peak that formed a natural barrier between his land and the area where New Heaven's Valley was built in.

Nothing.

There was nothing else.

And yet … slowly and with light steps a person strode out of the shadows the trees cast in the morning sun over the meadow behind the veranda and confused Jean lowered his head to one side for an inch or two, squinting his eyes to see a bit better in the blinding light of the still rising sun. He shuddered for a moment, even though it wasn't cold during this summer morning hours. Maybe he just was tired, he always was tired lately and he had been sitting out here for the entire night after all.

The person slowly, and with carefree and light steps walked over the grassland, walked over to him.

It was a man in his mid-ages maybe, whose long, black, in the morning sun shimmering hair moved gently in the soft breeze.

But there was no breeze.

Blinking in confusion Jean gazed at the blue and cloudless sky for a moment, as if he had to visually assure himself that there really was no wind, no breeze, and yet, while he looked back at the figure that approached him with those light steps – yes, his hair _really_ seemed to move in the wind, black hair that seemed to move softly, gently.

The figure was dressed in blue Jeans and a brown shirt which caused an eerie effect to the guy, even though he couldn't put a finger to it, couldn't really tell why it would be so strangely eerie – it just was so, as if the picture would be wrong, somehow, and yet it was so perfect. The man's face seemed firm and demanding, severe and yet kind and soft at the same time, and upon coming closer, Jean recognized him at once, even though he'd never before seen that man – even though he didn't even believe in his existence.

It was Jesus.

His way of walking, his clothes, plain and yet so fitting, his facial expression, and the piercing gaze in the dark, brown eyes, severe and yet joyful, it only could be Jesus, even though he'd never before seen the man, it was his entire _presence_ that named him Jesus.

And yet, why would Jesus come to him? To him of all people?

He never went to church, he never went to any kind of sermon or the bible readings they held over there in New Heaven's Valley, never went to anything that had to do with religion and he didn't pray to a God that didn't exist anyway! So, why would Jesus come to him, of all people, and how on earth, did he know that it was Jesus in the first place?

The strange young man entered the veranda behind the house, just like that and without asking for permission first, his steps sure and unfaltering, and he took another step towards Jean, slowly, before he knelt down in front of him and his severe dark eyes seemed to pierce him. A few seconds he didn't say a word, but then he slowly started to smile, his severe, dark eyes burning with a fire that was life itself, while his fingers seemed to touch Jean's face gently, and finally, softly, he started speaking with a calm and firm voice.

"It is not your time yet, Jean McIory, you have yet some work to do, here." The smile on Jesus' face seemed to become sad for a moment, while the fire in those dark eyes seemed to deepen with the request, with the _demand_. "There will be someone needing help and I have decided to place you at his side."

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 **Viewpoint of Cole Benson**

Motionless Cole stood for a few moments beside Jean and watched how his friend seemed to stumble over something within his mind, like so often lately, like always lately. Jean had changed, had changed so completely, he didn't understand it.

Jean McIory always had been strange, since his early childhood, and he must know it, because he knew him since he had arrived at New Heaven's Valley together with his brother and with his father so many years ago, but it had become better with the years, when Jean had gotten older and especially after he'd married Joanne.

But then Jean's brother had died, shortly after that Joanne had died, and now, after Isaac's death, Jean had died too, part of Jean had died, his mind, his will, his … his whatever had kept him alive and straight and sane, it had died together with his dad and he didn't know how he could bring him back. Nor did he know how to get any answer out of him, never mind the question. Jean just kept him as far away as possible, just like he kept everyone as far away as possible and he even doubted that Jean had allowed _anyone_ here near his house for the past two years except of him, and him – well, Jean only allowed _him_ here because he was the sheriff of New Heaven's Valley, the guardian of the law who always found one or another reason or pretence for visiting him.

He followed the young man's eyes to the south for a moment, to the woods and the foothills of Devil's Peak that were cast in shadows, wondering what it was Jean was seeing over there, but he didn't find anything that could capture one's eyes. There was movement over there, wild animals that scurried over the front line of trees, a snake or a lizard that was creeping over the stony area of Devil's Peak, a soft breeze that moved branches and – and shadows that seemed to move.

Shuddering he looked back at the young man who sat on the veranda, still looking to the south.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Jean McIory**

 _"There will be someone needing help and I have decided to place you at his side."_

He didn't really know what those words meant, what that stranger wanted to tell him, but he didn't mind either, he didn't mind because for one fleeting moment he was back to life, even though he didn't really understand, and even though he knew exactly that he'd be dead after that strange guy had left, that he'd die again out there in the plains of Devil's Peak. He could already see the shadows moving over there, excitedly, curiously coming closer after Jesus had approached him, curiously trying to look, to see what was going on here, before they stepped back, scared of what Jesus could do to them – and he was sure that they were scared about that guy who called himself Jesus – but he could see them moving more then they normally did over there at Devil's Peak.

Once more Jesus smiled at him and then straightened and turned away, went back towards the shadowy area of Devil's Peak, just as slowly as he had come – until he was gone. Until he was gone in a split second lasting light, chasing away the shadows, scaring them off, and for some time they were gone, hopefully forever.

 _"There will be someone needing help."_ He heard the voice that became softer, still not understanding the meaning of the words. _"And I have decided to place you at his side."_

The whispering voice echoed within his mind, Jesus' soft and deep voice, calm and quiet, and Jean couldn't help but holding his breath for a moment, couldn't help but closing his eyes to keep control over his emotions, over himself. He repeated the words in his mind, trying to memorize that picture.

"Jean?" He heard Cole asking, worry clearly etched in his voice and with a sigh he opened his eyes to look into the worried blue eyes of his friend who watched him calmly. "You alright?" He heard the tall and robust Sheriff from New Heaven's Valley asking.

Tired, was the first thing that came to Jean's mind. Strange, was the second. He couldn't name his emotions, not even to himself and surely not to Mark. He only knew that something within him felt different than before, strange, without being able to explain how and why, and totally helplessly he gazed back at Cole, unable to give the man an answer.

He could feel that his friend didn't want to push him too much and suddenly he felt guilty, guilty because he kept him at arm length away, because he had kept him away as far as possible for months, for years, just like he had kept _anyone_ away at arm length for months, for years.

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 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Conner** **Uí Ceallaigh**

Creeping up the soft slope that led to Mount Eagle, Conner readjusted his backpack with the field glasses, the knife and the rations.

Last night he'd already packed a few apples, some slices of bread, a box with crackers, and a bottle with water from the pantry, and then he'd gone to the shed in the garden where he'd taken his father's field glasses, the knife, a flashlight and some cord – after all, one never knew. He'd hidden the backpack between the shed and the fence, beneath some bushes of this and that which were growing there, what did he know, what it was his mum had planted there, after all.

Well, and this morning he'd told his mum that he'd meet with Bradyn for the day. His heart had been pounding wildly in his chest while he'd lied to his mum, knowing that not only was it wrong, but that also he'd be in so much trouble if his parents found out – but hey, he knew that she wouldn't allow him to hike the mountains, and especially not Mount Eagle.

Mount Eagle was one of the highest mountains they had, except of Devil's Peak, but most of all was it always short of being closed off because it was a dangerous mountain and Wohehiv was one of the few who made sure the mountain was kept open as he often climbed up there to look after the eagles' nests, making sure that everything was alright and saving one baby-bird or another if their mother didn't come back from their hunting-trip, whatever reason for a mother would abandon their young, but Wohehiv said, that it happened from time to time, if they got shot, for example.

Well, he'd left the house through the front door, waving happily at his mum who'd looked out of the kitchen window. The moment he'd reached the corner of the house however, he'd crept to the backyard, had grabbed his backpack and then he'd crept up Black Willow Lane to the spot where the lane met with Butternut Path, where he'd met with Bradyn, all the while trying to calm his wildly pounding heart that made itself known at the wrongdoing – lying to his mum, taking his father's things without asking, sneaking away secretly, spying on the Cheyenne and making plans for climbing Mount Eagle, not to mention the climbing-act itself they were to perform in a few days, as soon as they could be sure they could do it safely without being found by Wohehiv.

Alright, that lying part wasn't actually a lie to begin with, seeing that he really met with Bradyn, but that wasn't the point. Telling his mum that he simply met with Bradyn for the day, leaving her believing that they'd go to Pop's Soda Shoppe, the Mom and Pop store down the street, or the church for meeting with other boys for their bible study, while deliberately leaving out the sneaking part and the climbing part, the part about Mount Eagle … well, it was the same as lying and he knew it – and he didn't feel well with it.

However, his heart had calmed down somewhat the moment he'd seen Bradyn sitting on a log close to the edge of the woods, having his own backpack placed beside the log and he couldn't help grinning at the rope he could see laying in the grass beside the backpack. So, Bradyn had already brought a rope, that was good, because no one knew what would happen – and now they were on their way uphill.

It was slow going, because they avoided the path, after all – they couldn't be seen, now could they?

He didn't know the times Wohehiv was at work or when he was at home – or roving the woods himself, he couldn't help thinking. But well, the spirit of adventure had taken hold of him and so he didn't care much about that. The Cheyenne wouldn't find them, he was sure about that, they'd manage to find a comfortable, nice spot where they could settle to watch the Indian's house and tonight they'd just use the rope Bradyn had brought to fix their backpacks to some branches up a tree so that they were safe from animals throughout the night. They'd go home, and tomorrow morning they'd come back as soon as possible without having to sneak out their backpacks – everything would be perfect and in a week they'd know more.

Alright, maybe it'd take them more than a week, maybe two weeks, but he knew that it was worth the trouble they went through, because they'd be the first ones to climb Mount Eagle.

Alright, actually they weren't, Wohehiv was the first who'd ever climbed the mountain, but not only was the Indian the only one who did, but also – well, he was an adult and so that didn't count, did it?

"There." Bradyn whispered, pointing ahead and he could see the Indian's hut through the trees.

They moved farther to the left to round the clearing to avoid being seen, and then they started looking for a place where they could wait for some time. They'd need a dry and at least somewhat weatherproofed spot where not only they could see the hut, but where also they wouldn't be seen if Wohehiv looked out of his windows, or drove uphill when coming home – in other words, they couldn't make a fire either.

"Look at that." Bradyn said, pointing ahead of them and he nodded his head, heading towards the small clearing that could be seen through a few trees.

It was a very small clearing they entered when breaking through the last few trees, just large enough for the two of them and their package, surrounded by trees and bushes that shielded them from being seen and with a dense canopy of branches and leaves that would protect them from rain – as long as it didn't rain cats and dogs, but it wouldn't. July and August were the driest months during the year and not even June and September were very rainy – in other words, it wouldn't rain and surely not cats and dogs, not to mention that it hadn't been raining for weeks and weeks, and there was no sign of rain coming any time soon. But the canopy spent some shadow, protected them from the hot sun, and made the clearing dimly lit what added to their protection from unfriendly eyes.

Not that the Cheyenne was an unfriendly guy, surely not, at least not to their knowledge, but – well, seeing that they couldn't be found, he wasn't their friend right now either.

"Think there are bears out here?" He asked, placing his backpack beneath a bush and looking for his bottle of water.

"I don't think so." Bradyn answered, shrugging his shoulders. "There're bears at Mount Cheyenne, they say, but I've never seen some there either. I just think they tell us to keep us from climbing the mounts."

"Why?" He asked, frowning at his cousin. "Mount Cheyenne, Little Bear's Peak and Whitechapel Mount are free to climb. And not even Mount Eagle is actually closed off."

"Sure." Bradyn answered. "Our parents don't like it anyway. Not even Little Bear's Peak mum let me climb without worrying and that's really the smallest of them. What do you think mum would say if she knew that we're about to climb Mount Eagle?"

"She'd die of a heart attack." He answered, taking an apple and starting to eat. "Just like mine."

"Sure." Bradyn laughed. "After she'd killed us."

"You think he's at home?" He asked his two years older cousin.

"Dunno." Bradyn shrugged his shoulders. "But I think not, the Cherokee isn't there. You know, it's really funny. Wohehiv is a Cheyenne, but he doesn't live up Mount Cheyenne but Mount Eagle, but he's driving a Cherokee."

"A lot of people drive a Cherokee." He said, shrugging his shoulders. "But why is Mount Cheyenne called Mount Cheyenne if there isn't a Cheyenne living up there at all?"

"Because there had been some Cheyenne living up there, until they'd been put to a reservation during the Indian wars 1862." Bradyn answered and once again he couldn't help marvelling at his older cousin for knowing so many things.

Well, Bradyn had brought some maps and was unfolding them, and now they started studying the area, trying to map out several possibilities they'd have climbing up there without being seen before they'd reached the actual cliff.

The area down here, at the foot of Mount Eagle, was wooded. Slopes and scarps were marking the area, making the terrain difficult and it would get worse the higher they'd go. There were several canyons before they'd get to the actual face of Mount Eagle, and then it would become really difficult.

Bradyn had told him that he'd bring ropes and climbing harnesses, and some other things they'd need for their tour. They'd looked at the hillside from afar, and with the field glasses they had seen some parts where they could climb up a small path, barely wide enough for one person to climb up comfortably while others were only a few cracks in the mountains, an overlaying rock here or there, barely enough to really have a secure hold on them.

"He's coming." Conner whispered, pointing down towards the other clearing where the Cherokee was approaching his log cabin.

The cabin was built between the first tree line, built into the shadowy area of the tree line and he could imagine that it was really cool in the house during the hot summer months. And in winter, well, there was enough firewood for a few nice warm evenings inside while snow was falling outside.

"Guess he's been shopping." He said, watching the Cheyenne carrying some bags from the grocery to the house.

"Hmm, so he's either had a nightshift in the hospital and went shopping before he's got home, or he went shopping and goes to work later." Bradyn agreed, his eyes narrowed at the house, concentrating.

"Or he's on his vacation." He couldn't help saying.

"Let's hope not." Bradyn said, scowling, and he agreed, because if Wohehiv was on his vacation, then he'd be at home more often, then he'd go wander the woods himself, and maybe he'd go to Mount Eagle to climb it, too – what meant he'd find them, and somehow he knew that the man wouldn't allow them their own trip.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter four: the life in a small town and events enfold …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	4. got questions, try alpha

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.  
Child neglect as well as child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"He's coming." Conner whispered, pointing down towards the other clearing where the Cherokee was approaching his log cabin._

 _The cabin was built between the first tree line, built into the shadowy area of the tree line and he could imagine that it was really cool in the house during the hot summer months. And in winter, well, there was enough firewood for a few nice warm evenings inside while snow was falling outside._

 _"Guess he's been shopping." He said, watching the Cheyenne carrying some bags from the grocery to the house._

 _"Hmm, so he's either had a nightshift in the hospital and went shopping before he's got home, or he went shopping and goes to work later." Bradyn agreed, his eyes narrowed at the house, concentrating._

 _"Or he's on his vacation." He couldn't help saying._

 _"Let's hope not." Bradyn said, scowling, and he agreed, because if Wohehiv was on his vacation, then he'd be at home more often, then he'd go wander the woods himself, and maybe he'd go to Mount Eagle to climb it, too – what meant he'd find them, and somehow he knew that the man wouldn't allow them their own trip._

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter four – got questions? – try Alpha!**

 **Or – the tide of events enfolds …**

 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Cameron Chandler**

He'd been coming home yesterday evening – finally – and he'd been too lazy to unpack. He'd just put the luggage in the bedroom and then he'd done a go-over through the house. There hadn't been much to do, however, because throughout the years he had Violet and Rose Montgomery living there, two sisters who'd never found the right man to marry, and they had long ago resigned themselves to dying as old damsels, without family, without children.

Well, they'd looked for a house they could live in together, just so that they wouldn't be completely alone, and he'd offered his as he only lived there during the Christmas holidays and during the summer holidays. Why should the house be empty all year long, after all, while both, Rose and Violet were traveling the world from July to September, and they visited their brother in Washington for Christmas – so, there was no problem at all and not only did he have the house for himself during the holidays, but also there wasn't much to do when he came home after half a year of absence as the two sisters were keeping it clean and tidy.

Leaving number seven, Cameron Chandler drove to the next grocery, close to Bitternut Hickory Trail, in the Main Avenue. He had gone through his pantry, and even though the old ladies had made sure that he'd have enough to eat for the next few weeks, had even cooked enough to last for the weekend, he needed a few things he personally preferred, to be restocked. So he would do just this, buying his favorite brown bread, mustard and grapes in the grocery – and whatever else he found there he could declare as useful.

Passing the lawns and the gardens of Bitternut Hickory Trail, he frowned, for the first time realizing that it hadn't been raining in weeks. Of course he'd known, he was working just a few miles away from New Heaven's Valley, after all, up Whitechapel Mount, and he'd often come down here on Sunday mornings for service, but he hadn't really realized what it meant – namely that the entire Valley was dry and dusty, people fighting against the dryness with buckets of water and with the garden hose at the ready – and anyway everything lacked water, many lawns being brown instead of green, and this year you better bought your salad and your vegetables in the grocery, because growing them in your garden only cost you a lot of money for watering them twice a day.

Sarah Jayden, from over the street, he'd seen her yesterday morning – yesterday early morning, mind you – watering the garden, and in the late evening hours he'd seen her watering the garden again, after the worst heat had been over. Well, and there was no sign of rain anywhere in the sky – or on the news, the heat seemed to continue, and so the fighting against dryness and dust lingering in the air, too.

Parking the black 1936 Buick Roadmaster, he turned off the engine and thanked God for the great holidays he'd surely have, for having come home safely and that God had _not_ gotten him a pink car with yellow doors and front lid, but a nice black one – even though he didn't know why God would do such a thing, giving him a pink car with yellow doors and front lid, in the first place – but alone the thought was so horrible, he didn't see any reason as to why not thanking God for saving him from such a thing, and then he got off the car, softly throwing the door shut. Most people didn't even realize how lucky they were, and how much comfort they were enjoying throughout their lives and a functioning car, not to mention a car one liked, was definitely part of it and reason enough to thank God for. After all, he just as well could drive an old and rusty 1920 Ford Pick Up, a red one – he surely wouldn't like that car too much.

Entering the grocery he for a moment considered taking a trolley, but then he discarded the thought. He didn't like those trolleys much!

He always had the picture of an old guy in his mind, hanging on the cart to avoid toppling over, taking one small and shuffling step after another – a horrifying thought, really. But well, he didn't need much anyway and that what he needed, he easily could carry in one of the baskets the grocery provided. So he entered the shop and for a moment he hesitated. Not because he was unsure, but because he again realized how long it had been since he last had entered one and how seldom he was doing this as during the year the school provided them with nearly anything they needed.

But well, that was the prize if you worked at a boarding school, your living style was different from that of normal people, but he wouldn't change it, never mind what, because he actually liked it being a teacher at a boarding school – contrary to Hereweald, and for a moment he chuckled at the thought of Hereweald Hrothgar, the most complicated man at Hathaway – no, the most complicated man on all earth.

Quickly striding through the corridor he took a bunch of grapes and put them in his basket. A jar Marshmallow fluff followed and then, a few yards further he took two bottles of milk, his thoughts wandering to one blue eyed boy he'd had in his pre-school class several years ago, in 1921, when he'd done his practical year in London, in a kindergarten, a blue eyed boy that had eyed the smaller version of exactly these milk bottles with a longing gaze until he'd handed him his, the startling deep blue eyes growing even larger, becoming nearly teary, and he knew that this particular boy had been really grateful for the milk, not like the other kids barely acknowledging what was given to them, or that it was given to them in the first place as it simply was normal to them to get whatever they wanted – or needed.

No, this particular boy had not always gotten what he'd wanted – or needed – and he remembered the small fingers holding the bottle of milk protectively, nearly cradling the bottle to his chest with his small fingers, and he knew that this particular bottle of milk had always been the highlight of the boy's day – and standing there, now, regarding those bottles of milk he held in his own hand now with a questioning gaze as if the item could give him an answer, he again wondered why some things just were the way they were and why God had taken this boy home so early.

On the other hand, for some people it was just better that way.

A trolley bumping into him startled him out of his thoughts and he turned, a sharp word on his lips, but then he smiled upon finding himself face to face with not a child that was running through the grocery, using the cart to slide through the shop, but one Mary-Anne Chandler and his niece, the daughter to his brother and sister in law.

"Uncle Cameron!" The girl called out, happily, hugging him.

"You've grown, Mary-Anne." He said, looking his niece over.

"You haven't seen me for ages, uncle Cameron." The girl laughed. "I'm eleven now, after all."

"It's been half a year only, little one." He chuckled. "And that's far from _'being ages'_."

"It _is_ ages!" Mary-Anne consisted.

"And what about Christmas?" He laughed. "We've had Christmas-dinner together, after all."

"I told you, it's ages, uncle Cameron." The girl whined. "And don't call me _'little one'_ , I'm not little anymore."

"Of course you're not, little one." He smiled, chuckling at the face the girl pulled at his repeated _'little one'_ despite her abjections.

"Are you coming for lunch?" Mary-Anne asked, looking up at him with her bright blue eyes. "Mom's cooking her stew."

"Only if you accompany your old uncle to your house." He answered, happily. He knew that Emily Chandler, nee Watson wouldn't mind. It wouldn't be the first time that his niece brought him – or Jethro, his older brother – home for lunch or dinner.

"Any plans for your holidays?" He asked the girl while walking her to the counter. "I've seen that there's a cinema now in New Heaven's Valley."

"Yes, and they're playing movies about _romance_." The girl answered, again pulling a face. "They show how boys and girls are _kissing_ , that's ugly uncle Cameron! I won't go there, ever."

"Hmm." He chuckled. "We'll talk again in two, or three years. Good morning, Miss Hollister." He greeted the young woman behind the counter. "Are you and your family alright?"

"We're fine, sir, thanks." The young lady said, looking up the price for the grapes, and he could see her brain rattling, trying to find out who exactly he was – well, he was only here during the summer holidays, and during the Christmas Holidays, after all, that wasn't too often and there were some, especially some of the youth, who didn't know him too well. "Chandler." He helped. "From Hathaway up Whitechapel Mount."

"Oh … alright." The girl smiled, but still there was a questioning expression in her eyes and he chuckled.

He knew that the young lady was living at the house of the Earl, in the attic they had changed into a flat. She was living there with her parents and with her sister for a few years now, after they had come to New Heaven's Valley with nothing than the clothes they'd worn, a backpack each and a blankie the little sister had held in her arms.

The family of four had lost everything during a hurricane, and they'd come to live with Marvin Hollister, the young lady's uncle – a good thing to do if you lost everything. The problem had been that Marvin Hollister had died a few years ago, and now the family had stood there with no place to go. The Earl and – 'his Lady' – as he used to say, had witnessed their desperation and there'd been just one questioning glance from Arthur towards Beatrice, and a moment later the lady had taken the smallest girl by the hand, leading the little one towards their house, while her husband had ushered the rest of the family towards their home. Since then they were just living together.

They'd changed the attic so that it served as a nice flat for the family, and now the girls even had a room each – only the kitchen they were using together with the older couple.

Mr. Hollister was working in the bakery and Mrs. Hollister was helping the Lady of Cornwall in the house and in the garden, or you could see the two women walking through New Heaven's Valley to go shopping, or sitting in the coffee-house or in the church for coffee. Sometimes Beatrice Cornwall could be seen with little Amy visiting the nearby playground. They had just become one big family, just like that, as if the Earl of Cornwall had adopted the family.

"That's sixty-eight pennies." The girl said and he got the money from his Jeans-pocket.

"Good day, Miss Hollister." He said after having paid. "And say hello to your family."

"Bye. Mr. Chandler, and thanks." The girl answered, and he left together with Mary-Anne.

"You know, she didn't know who you are." The girl whispered into his ear, pulling him down to do so.

"I know." He chuckled. "That's because my visits here are so rare occasions."

"Why are you working at that school, anyway?" The girl asked, pulling a face – yet again. "You could just as well work here at New Heaven's High, I'd very much like _that_."

"I could." He answered. "But those children up there need teachers, too."

"But why you?" The girl whined.

"Because I like my work there, and I like those children." He answered.

"They're rich criminals with no behavior!" The girl whined, sounding very angry, and he shook his head.

"They're no criminals, Mary-Ann." He said, frowning. He knew some people's opinion about the children visiting Hathaway, and he knew that their opinion wasn't entirely wrong, but it wasn't entirely correct either. It was a bit more complicated than that. "Those children might be the children of the rich, but that doesn't mean that they have everything. Toys, clothes and each year a new bicycle, sure, but a lot of them won't get love, care or time with their parents. What do you think, little one, where their parents' money stems from?"

"Dunno, uncle Cameron." The girl said, shrugging her shoulders. "From _their_ parents?"

"Sometimes." He agreed, walking the girl to the car. "In this case those parents haven't learned how to spend time with their children because no one had spent time with them, either, when they'd been children. Other parents have to work hard for their money and therefore they just have no time left to spend with their children. Those boys are the way they are because they have no one who cares about them and most of those children are even unwanted children. Their parents send them there, so that they have them out of their way during the year – don't you think that they at least deserve someone who cares about them while they're at school? Do you really envy those children? You have everything you need, child – and you have your mother's love and care, too, Mary-Ann, never forget that when judging those children up there on Whitechapel Mount."

"Oh …" The girl made, her face sad now. "Alright … I'd be very unhappy if mom wouldn't love me anymore."

"Of course you'd be." He huffed while starting the Buick.

"Uncle Cameron?" The girl asked and he looked over at her, questioningly. "Dad loved me, too, didn't he?" Mary-Ann then asked, softly, and it was clear that the girl had thought about that for some time now.

Julien Chandler had been lieutenant commander in the Navy – and with Jethro as a firefighter his father, who'd been a top-ranking officer, hadn't been too happy about him, Cameron, going to study the bible. He'd always been viewed as weak. And then Julien had died during a military operation when the Marienes had landed at Foochow to protect the American Consulate in the year 1934, leaving behind his wife and a five year old daughter. Of course Jethro still viewed him as _'weak'_ , somehow, but he also knew that Jethro did respect him very much.

"Of course he did." He answered, seriously. "There was no day your father didn't tell people one thing or another about his pretty little daughter, and there was no day your father didn't call whenever he'd been on an assignment abroad. Didn't your mother tell you?" He then asked, frowning.

"Sure." The girl answered, thinking, watching the houses they passed on their way home. "But of course mom would tell me that dad loved me. She's my mom, after all. It's different if _you're_ telling me."

"Hmm." He nodded, turning left and driving down the road. "I guess it's a difference, yes. Did you ask uncle Jethro?"

"Uncle Jethro is strange." The girl shrugged her shoulders. "He's alright, but he'd never tell anyone anything 'bout love, really."

"Surely not." He laughed, steering the vehicle into the driveway of Emily's house. "Uncle Jethro would rather go through torture and death."

"Than what?" Came said man's deep voice from the other side of the window and turning he looked into the blue eyes of his brother opening the door of his car.

"Than talking about Julien loving Mary-Ann." He laughed, knowing his brother's reaction to that – and just as he'd known, there wasn't even any reaction except of his brother glaring at him for a moment before turning and entering the house.

"Come on, little one, let's say hello to your mom." He said, taking his bag with the shopping and throwing the door close. He'd just put the things in Emily's fridge until he got home.

"Cameron." Said woman greeted him at the door. "It's good to see you. When did you get here?" She then asked, hugging him for a moment.

"Yesterday evening." He said, hugging Emily back and then entering the house. "The headmaster kept the entire staff until the authorities were there and the school could be shut down."

"He must be really scared of the authorities." Emily smiled, shaking her head.

"Rather of the work they could assign." He then said.

"Where's the milk, Mary-Ann?" Emily asked, looking past him at her daughter, and he smiled. Of course, he should have reminded the girl at the shopping she'd surely forgotten upon seeing him.

"I have it." He said, taking the two cartons of milk he'd bought and handing them over to his sister in law, hoping that two cartons were alright.

"Hmm." Emily made, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement, and he knew exactly that the woman knew. "After lunch I need to leave for the church anyway, and then I'll go and get anything else we need." Emily then added and he knew that she'd get him another two cartons of milk. That was it, what he loved concerning his sister-in-law, that woman would never embarrass anyone in front of somebody else, never mind what, she'd always safe the situation and then talk with the person later, even though he knew that most likely Emily wouldn't say anything about Mary-Ann just forgetting the milk because she'd been so happy to meet him – after all, the girl hadn't come home with empty hands, she'd brought him, Cameron.

"Care for a good whiskey before lunch?" Jethro asked, calling over from the dining room and he went over to his brother.

"Any news here?" He asked, sitting down at one of the chairs and watching his brother pouring two fingers of the golden liquid.

"Just the usual." Jethro answered, placing one tumbler on the table in front of him. "There had been several raids during the past few days." The man then said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "At the clothing caboodle, the stationary, and the grocery."

"What had been taken?" He asked, taking a sip of the strong liquid, his eyebrow raised, because regular raids weren't normal for their little valley. there had been some durnig the summer holidays last year, but no more since that time. People here didn't just break in shops to steal things.

"That's the strange thing." Jethro said, shaking his head. "Only a few clothes in the caboodle. The stationary and the grocery couldn't even name a list of what was missing. A bread here or there, a bottle of milk or a bottle of juice, and a pencil or a few pieces of paper, maybe. But they couldn't tell for sure as they won't do inventory every day, of course."

"That's not what would be considered as normal, when it comes to a raid." He mused. "How did they get into the shops?"

"With a hair needle, I guess, because nothing was destroyed and those locks could easily be opened with a hair needle."

"That rather sounds like someone who's hungry and in need of a few things."

"Maybe." Jethro said. "But it's keeping the sheriff busy for days now – added to the snakes."

"Too many of them?" He asked, remembering summer 1912. Back then it had been a hot summer, too, and back then they'd become a plague in the surrounding woods and mountains, the snakes getting into the town, even, and roaming the lower and wooded mountain-areas had become really dangerous.

Back then the boys had started going out snake-hunting. They'd earned five pennies for any dead snake they'd brought to the ranger and ten pennies for any living snake. Of course most boys had caught them alive, himself included – until Jethro had been bitten by a snake and then their mother had forbidden it.

"Added to the dryness and heat, we've had several wildland fires." Jethro then continued. "Small fires which we could control easily, but we're just waiting for the big fire that might destroy more than just a few hectares of wood."

"Hmm." He nodded his head. "That heat and dryness is a problem, but just look up to the Lord so that he might do a miracle."

"Sure, you do that." Jethro huffed at him and it was clear what he thought about it. "But I'd rather have my men being ready to fight the fire the moment it starts."

"Of course you do that." He agreed. "Anything else would be irresponsible. But that doesn't mean we can't ask the Lord for help and I for my part, will just do that."

"Yeah, but save me from your babbling, please." Jethro then said. "Isn't it enough that I have to deal with Emily's praying and preaching?"

"You'll have to deal with it as long as you're in this house, Jethro." He growled. "It is Emily's house, after all, and it's her decision to say a prayer before meals or to talk about God with Mary-Ann."

"Hmpf." His brother made. "It's getting time I find a new place to stay. I've been here for long enough now."

"Don't talk nonsense, Jethro." Emily said, carrying the pot with what smelled of stew to the table. "You two get this devil-drinks off the table and lay the plates."

Only moments later he could watch Jethro rolling his eyes while Emily said a short prayer to thank God for lunch, and then they enjoyed the stew and a family conversation.

How he had missed that, his family.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – Whitechapel Mount Hospital, Indiana**

 **Viewpoints of Violet Montgomery and Hereweald Hrothgar**

Violet hurried along the corridors of Whitechapel Mount Hospital. She was about to pick up her sister who was in hospital due to an accident with an experiment that had exploded and hit her last week. It wasn't anything serious, but the doctors had kept her supervised for a few days and she would be released this morning. She would pick her up, so that _finally_ they could start into their holidays – and luckily they hadn't booked anything but were on their way by their own as they were late already.

The two elderly women, both still unmarried, lived together for years now and Violet always was happy to travel around the world together with Rose during the summer months. Their parents probably would be very upset if they knew that both of them never had married and never had started a family, but both of them were happy the way it was – even though Violet Montgomery had been close, very close, to go into a bond – but that had been years ago, many years ago.

After all, who needed a husband that was annoying and irritating all day long but otherwise useless? Ordering her around and demanding things she wasn't ready to give while _he_ wasn't ready to do anything for his wife? And as all men were the same in this area, one clearly shouldn't tell her that he was an exception.

No, thank you very much.

It wasn't that she disliked men in general. She got along with most of the male teachers at New Heaven's High and she definitely called Cameron and Wohehiv her friends, close friends even.

No – she had just never felt the need to marry one. Not that she preferred women. It surely wasn't that. She just didn't like to marry – or have any other close relationship that would require of her living together with anyone aside from her sister and as Rose felt the same way, it was alright. They lived together, but both could do as they pleased and none of them was accountable towards each other for anything.

She had once been ready for that, for marriage, but well, it was the past and one did better not linger at the past.

Maybe it was because their parents had always been arguing while they were alive. Rose and she, they had hated it. But on the other hand, just a few days after their mother had died their father had followed her and both women were sure that he had died because he had missed the arguing with their mother, as ridiculous as it …

"Good morning, Violet." Hereweald's voice startled her out of her thoughts and she blinked for a moment, wondering what the Professor would do here in this area of the hospital.

Of course she knew that Hereweald Hrothgar, a teacher at Hathaway, worked for the Whitechapel Mount Hospital during the holidays, after all, he always did, for years now, but the man was working in the laboratories of the hospital, and the laboratories were in the west wing. So – what did Hereweald do here in the east wing of the hospital?

"Good morning, Hereweald." She answered. "It's nice to see you again, and outside of a laboratory, young man, even if I have to admit that it is a startling sight."

"Indeed." Hrothgar lifted his eyebrow at the woman, huffing at the _'young man'_ and then glaring at her seriously. "You aren't ill, Violet, are you?" He asked concerned.

No, he still wasn't a caring person in the first place, but as he liked Violet, and her sister, Rose, who had a hang for chemistry just like him, too, he couldn't help worrying after seeing her at the hospital.

It wasn't that he often interacted with the people living at Whitechapel Mount or New Heaven's Valley, but as a biochemist and especially as a Chemistry Professor he of course knew other Chemistry or Biology Professors or teachers living nearby – and that definitely included Rose Montgomery who taught at New Heaven's High. And seeing that Violet was the deputy headmistress of New Heaven's High, he of course knew her, too. Now, she was a nice, old woman who had the same old-style manners as had he, and so it wasn't hard to have some regards for her, of course.

"No, no, Hereweald, don't fret." She shook her head. "Just a social call. Rose had a chemistry accident – no, don't say anything, Hereweald, I do know that it was her own fault, leaving an experiment unsupervised – and they kept her for a few days. I am just about to pick her up and take her to the holidays, finally." Then she looked the Chemistry Professor over. "The same question however I could ask of you."

"A social call as well, Violet." Hrothgar answered, smirking at the woman. "One of your students, to be precise." He then answered.

"One of my students?" Violet asked, the shock clearly written over her face. "You actually are visiting one of my students, Hereweald? Hell must be freezing over."

"Indeed." Hrothgar agreed with a face as if he had a headache. "Considering that it is Roberts no less." He then added.

Well, this time the deputy headmistress actually gasped in shock and she blinked a few times at him before she actually was able to gather her composure, causing Hrothgar to chuckle in amusement.

"Roberts … what … but …"

"How eloquent, Violet." He drawled, his black eyes cold and his eyebrow lifted.

"Jesus! Hereweald!"

"Hereweald will be enough, Violet, but thank you."

"Hereweald Hrothgar!" The deputy headmistress called out exasperated. "Will you stop this nonsense at once and you won't play with the name of the Lord, young man, and this is not funny!"

"No, it isn't, Violet." Hrothgar agreed, growing serious again. "But your reaction has been just too – amusing."

Violet huffed at him.

"Now, _Professor_ …" The woman started, exaggerating his title. "Owen Roberts? What happened, Hereweald?" She then asked, worry clearly audible in her voice.

"Well, it seems that I have lost my mind at one point or another during the holidays." He answered, knowing well that this hadn't been the answer the woman had wanted to hear from him.

"As curious as I might be over the fact that you actually are visiting Mr. Roberts, Hereweald, that wasn't what I meant." She huffed. "I rather wanted to know how Mr. Roberts happens to be here at Whitechapel Mount Hospital in the first place. What happened, Hereweald?"

The Chemistry Professor lowered his head to his left and regarded the older woman with a thoughtful look before he extended his hand towards a nearby office.

"You do realize that I can't give you this kind of information, don't you?" He said, opening the office door and leading her inside. It wasn't the first time he took claim of one of the offices and so he didn't mind doing so now. It was empty and so he entered.

"Hereweald?" Violet asked, sensing that it had to be something serious, otherwise the Chemistry Professor would have simply told her without seeking shelter in privacy.

"Well, Violet." He started after offering the woman a seat at one of the chairs and sitting himself onto the desk. "As it is, I can't tell you – but maybe you'll have a word with his parents. I'm sure they're able giving you more information than I, seeing that I'm bound to medical confidentiality. However, while I have the chance talking to you, you're at the New Heaven's Valley board, aren't you? "

"I am." The woman said, frowning.

"Well, then maybe you could get the board to installing climbing courses on the mountains." He said. "And that includes teaching the children the dangers of the mountains, and of wild animal, too."

"In other words, the boy had fallen off a cliff." Violet sighed. "How is Roberts now, Hereweald?" She asked, her voice nearly a hollow whisper and her face paler as it had been moments ago. If he'd fallen off a cliff, then anything could have happened, after all!

"He didn't." The Professor huffed in clear annoyance, lifting his eyebrow at her. "As I said, if you like having information about Roberts, then you should ask his parents."

"Then why would you ask about the board installing climbing courses on the mountains?" The woman asked, confused.

"Because right now, I have you here in front of me to ask you in the first place." He said, lifting his eyebrow at her.

"But why would you ask something like that in the first place?" The woman then demanded, still not understanding.

He watched her for a few more moments with serious black eyes before he finally answered.

"Well." He then started. "Considering that _your_ children are climbing those damn mountains, even those which are forbidden to climb in the first place, and considering that you can't forbid them doing it anyway as they'd just climb them secretly then, I suggest you make it official and teach them how to do so safely – and to teach them the risks of the mountains and the wildland, too, just to minimize the accident rate and to unburden my person from more work than necessary."

"That doesn't explain, however, how you come to visiting one of my students, Hereweald Hrothgar!" The woman demanded and with a sigh he realized that she wasn't the deputy headmistress without a reason.

"As the hospital is overfilled with children during the holidays, seeing that the boarding schools which would house part of them in their sick-rooms are closed, and seeing that all the children are at home, being bored and therefore doing stupid things and getting injured or ill, overflowing the hospitals even more, I do have the lovely job of not only working in the laboratories, but taking care of those little bothers, too."

"You …?"

"Yes, Violet?"

"Professor!" The woman called out, outraged, before she sighed. "I don't know the reason as to why you're here, Hereweald Hrothgar, but you should go back to the mental ward you surely have escaped from." Violet gasped, spluttered, shaking her head at him. "I should call a healer over for you."

"Believe me, Violet, I am quite fine, aside from the headaches those little snots give me." He growled, darkly at the woman's still shocked expression. "All year long I'm working with them, even living together with them as their house teacher, and now I'm not even free from them during my well-earned holidays!"

"Certainly." She agreed. "You must love them. And now I think I will have a look at Mr. Roberts. I am sure Rose can wait a few …"

"I think not so, Violet." Hereweald said, watching her with serious black eyes.

"I beg your pardon, Hereweald?" The woman asked, shocked again. "But why ever not?"

"Simply because Mr. Roberts would not be up to any visit right now." The Chemistry Professor answered. The boy had barely survived the snakebite and the poison had already done some damage – one of the reasons as to why he was here to keep an eye on the idiot child, cursing the local ranger and his allowing the children to go hunting snakes.

"Very well." Violet answered, sighing. "I'll just pick up Rose, bring her to the hotel, and then I'll make a visit at the Roberts."

"To the hotel?" Hereweald asked, frowning. "What's with your home? Did the chemistry accident cause the house to explode?"

"Surely not, Hereweald, Rose is not _that_ incapable." Violet huffed. "Cameron Chandler is back, of course, just like you, and as we're living in his house during the year, we have of course left before he got home."

"I'm sure Chandler wouldn't have minded." Hereweald said, lifting his eyebrow. Cameron Chandler was the religious guy at the school, after all, and as all religious guys were weak and ready to be excessively generous, he was sure that the man would have allowed the two women to remain in the house as long as need arose, moving in at the hotel himself instead.

"Of course he wouldn't." Violet said. "But it wouldn't be right anyway. We're living in his house and of course we make sure that it's free for him during his holidays, and so we haven't told him in the first place – and now, if you excuse me, I have a social call to make."

"Of course, Violet." Hereweald said, inclining his head. "Take care of yourself during your travels – and of your sister. Just encase she's doing more experiments."

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 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Penelope Cleveland**

"Penelope." Someone called and looking over she could see Cameron Chandler turning around the corner, smiling at her, Mary-Anne Chandler, his niece, running up behind him. Well, then surely Emily wouldn't be far away either, it was a nice Saturday afternoon, after all, and surely the small family would go to Pop's Soda Shoppe for ice-cream or a milkshake.

"Good afternoon, Cameron." She answered, wondering when the man had come back from that school he was working at. "I haven't seen you for months."

"See, uncle Cameron?" Little Mary-Anne called out. "Mrs. Cleveland, too, says that it's ages!"

"Alright." Cameron sighed, resigned, and she smiled. "It's ages. How are you, Penelope?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She said. "I'd like a bit of rain, though, my garden is like a desert, but I guess that's a problem for everyone here at the moment. It hadn't been raining for more than two months now."

"It is." Cameron agreed. "Emily said her entire garden is dried up, even though she's watering the garden twice a day. She's using more water for the garden than for anything else. We're on our way to the church for a cup of coffee, Penelope, won't you come, too?" He asked, smiling at her happily, but she couldn't help blinking at him in confusion.

"You're drinking coffee in your church?" She asked, and even _she_ could hear how perplexed she sounded. Why would they do such a thing?

"Sure." Cameron shrugged his shoulders, and he looked as if he'd be unable understanding why _she_ wouldn't understand.

"Why?" She simply asked, not knowing what else she could ask or say.

"Well, we've had lunch at Emily's house, and now I'd like a cup of coffee." He chuckled. "A lot of people are doing that, having coffee after meals, you know?"

"I do know _that_ , but why would you do that at the church?" She asked, still not understanding. The church was a house you went to for praying and for singing, and to listen to the preacher's talking – and for gossip, of course.

"Well, because I'll meet a lot of other people there." Cameron said, smiling, and she could see that he really was happy with the idea of having coffee in his church. "Benjamin surely will be there on Saturday afternoons, Leonard, Mitchel and maybe Wohehiv, I haven't seen that Indian for much too long, and I'm sure that I'll meet our entire Irish clan there on a day like that. And maybe the Earl of Cornwall will be there, too. And Emily will come, she just went to the grocery to get some things. And I'm sure that Kayleigh and Gwyneth have made their most delicious cheesecake. Never mind Emily's cooking, but there's always room for a piece of cheesecake."

A coffee party at the church – well, like she already thought, gossip. They'd talk about Ann-Kathrin's new dress and about Mariah wearing a new strange hut with flowers, or about Alana's shoes being old, any such things, the normal gossip of church-goers and a small town.

"That really sounds nice." She said, unsure about how to decline. "But – I'm no member of your church and …"

"But that's no problem, Penelope." Cameron said, shaking his head and happily taking her arm, leading her along the pavement. "You don't have to be a member of our church for having a nice cup of coffee and a piece of cheesecake!"

"But – I'm no member of any church and I don't even … well …"

"No problem here, Penelope, really." Cameron smiled. "Jesus didn't just drink coffee with the Pharisees, but with anyone."

"Coffee didn't exist back then." She said, allowing Mary-Anne to take her hand, too, and to pull her along, unable to resist – but well, she didn't have any plans for the afternoon anyway, so, why not? Gossip it would be, then.

"No, but _if_ coffee had existed back then, then Jesus would have drunk coffee with anyone." Cameron said and she didn't know anything she could have said against that.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

It was barely ten minutes later that she found herself in – no other place than a church, even though the building didn't look anything like a church, but the fact remained that it indeed was one, and for a moment she nearly shuddered when going inside. It was years since she'd been in one, many years, actually, and a lot of things had happened since then. She had changed, she'd become a different person, and – well, just many things had happened since then.

She could indeed see Gwyneth and Kayleigh serving coffee and – Cameron would be happy – cheesecake, Dewayne Uí Ceallaigh standing behind the counter and cooking coffee, and at one of the tables – yes, there were tables standing in the lobby, just like in the coffee-house down Butternut Path – were sitting Morgan McFlaherty, Caitlyn and Odhran O'Donnellan, actually Uí Domhnalláin, and Rebecca and Noah Mac Guaire, the entire Irish clan, as Cameron had called them so nicely just a few minutes ago.

"Cameron, old boy!" Someone called over, Gabe, or Gabriel, Heavensville or something like that, she only knew that his surname had something to do with Heaven, like New Heaven's Valley, and he'd taken over the youth centre a few years ago – people telling her that back then they'd thought him being unfitting for the job, with all his tattoos, and with his long hair and his motorbike, but that in the end they couldn't have found someone better for the job.

"Hello Gabe." Cameron walked them over to the table, hugging Gabe who got off his chair. "That's Pene-"

"Penelope Cleveland, yes." Gabe said, turning towards her, smiling and reaching out his hand. "Nice to see you here." And a moment later she was sitting at the table together with Cameron, Gabe, and Sarah Jayden, her colleague from New Heaven's High.

"How are you, Pen?" Sarah asked, pouring her a cup of coffee. "I'm surprised that Cameron managed what I tried for months."

"Well, I didn't plan it, he kind of threw me off with his offer and before I knew what happened, I was here." She answered, not really knowing what to say. Was she supposed to talk about religious things? About church things? Or about the town? About any kind of gossip? About the weather and the holidays?

"In other words, he has abducted you." Sarah laughed.

"The other children are in the garden with Ann-Kathrin and Leonard, Mary-Ann." Gabe said to the little girl. "Why don't you go outside, too?"

"Sure, 'till later uncle Cameron." The girl said, waving, and gone she was.

"How was your year, Cameron? From one teacher to the other." Sarah laughed.

"It's been a good year." Cameron said. "My house behaved well and I had no troubles with them."

"Your house?" She asked, glad that – at least for now – the conversation was away from her.

"Well, most boarding schools have a house-system." Cameron explained. "As a house-teacher you have a number of students you are responsible for, mostly between ten and twenty students, and mostly they are at different grades. You live together with them in a house like a family, and as the house teacher you overtake the father-role. You're responsible for them, for their education, for their upbringing and for their health for the duration of their stay at school."

"How many students do you have?" She asked. She'd heard of Hathaway, of course, like anyone else in New Heaven's Valley. Not only was Hathaway just up Whitechapel Mount, and therefore it was a neighbouring school, but also – well, sometimes the police picked up one of the children from there, after they'd done one thing or another, mostly roaming the valley at night – not because they would steal something, or break into one of the shops. It was just that, sometimes some of those children were roaming the valley at night just because they wanted out, because they wanted to look, because they wanted to see how other people – how _normal_ people – were living. They were roaming the streets, looking into the windows from the shops, secretly peering into the windows of the houses, they were just curious and they wanted out of their own system.

"We're just a small school." Cameron said. "The school fees are so expensive that few people can afford sending their children, only those who are really rich, and so we have no more than a hundred of students, mostly less than that. At an average I have between ten and fifteen students in my house."

"How expensive is expensive?" She asked, frowning. Sure, she'd heard about those children being the children of the rich, but well, expensive could be – anything, it depended on how much money you had and the amount of your money, well, it depended on your view of the money. Some would call ten dollars a lot of money, after all you could buy a lot with ten dollars, some wouldn't.

"We're speaking of 25.000 dollars a month." Cameron said, seriously and she couldn't help gasping.

"Are you sure you got that correct and you're not speaking of 2.500 dollars?" She asked, because who, never mind how rich, would pay that much money for having their children at a boarding school?

"No, it's not a mistake." Cameron said.

"I've paid 520 dollars for room and board at Manchester College of arts for women." She said. "400 dollars for Tuition, 20 for health fees and 45 dollars for the text-books, that makes less than a thousand dollars, and your school takes 25.000 dollar for each month? That's a horrendous sum!"

"You don't know how _much_ money the rich pay, just to have some peace from their children, and just to have them out of their ways so that they can travel around the world, or go on working without having to care for them." Cameron sighed, and suddenly she understood. So far, she'd viewed those boys up at Whitechapel mount as _'troublemakers'_ and as _'the bad boys'_ , as rich snots without behaviour. Surely they did have manners, they were the children of the rich, after all, but surely their behaviour was bad behaviour. "Well, how was your school term, Penelope? Did you settle in here and at school?"

"That heat here causes a bit of trouble for me, but other than that, yes." She said. "I really like the children here, they're well raised children and New Heaven's High is a great school."

"Hmm, that's different from Seattle." Gabe laughed. "I've been there for a few weeks during summer, back in 1927, and later that year in December. During summer I've been cold, and in December I'd missed white Christmas."

"There _is_ snow in Seattle." She said, smiling, because she knew that Gabe was right and they had never had too much snow. "You're celebrating Christmas, don't you? You see," she then added, too late realizing that she'd brought up the subject she'd hoped to avoid most. "As Christians you don't believe that it's been the 24th of December when Jesus was born, after all. It's just a day made up by the Catholic Church to get the heathen into the church."

"It is." Gabe agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But does it matter? Why not celebrating Jesus' birth? He's our saviour, after all, and if we celebrate it, then why not celebrating it on December 24th like any other church? Why going against that particular holiday just to having been gone against the Catholic Church? That would be waste strength we can use better on different places and occasions, not to mention that most people visiting Catholic Church are no different from us and surely not less Christians than we are."

"But if it's the wrong date?" She said, not really understanding the man's reasoning. She'd always thought that the free churches were more serious about everything the established regular churches did.

"Well, no one knows the real date." Gabe said. "So, why should we take a date that _might_ lie closer to Jesus' real date, but is _wrong_ anyway? Jesus has never told us to waste our strength and our energy for things that are unnecessary."

"By Jesus telling you things, you're speaking about what Jesus said and did in the bible." She guessed.

"Exactly." Cameron nodded his head, smiling at the piece of cheesecake he'd got from Gwyneth. "Thank you, Gwyneth. We can learn so many things from the bible, from what Jesus had been teaching his disciples. You know, he'd taken them into an apprenticeship. He hadn't just told them _'do this'_ and _'do that'_ , but he'd been living with them, and he'd been teaching them, showing them how things worked, how to do things – and if we read the bible with open eyes, and with an open mind, then we, too, can learn so many things."

"You know, I've read the bible, some years ago." She sighed, leaning back in her chair and wondering why for heaven's sake she'd tell them. For years she hadn't spoken about anything like that. "And I've been going to a prayer-group, too."

"What happened?" Gabe asked, looking over at her questioningly, and somehow she knew that the man didn't just ask out of politeness, but out of real interest.

"And then my husband died." She answered, taking a deep breath – surely not the subject she'd planned for the day.

Gabe didn't ask her again "what happened?", or "how did he die?" or other that ridiculous question, he just looked at her, silently, his eyes holding the question, and after some time she couldn't help but giving him an answer.

"Well, he's been driving home from work." She said after taking another deep breath and then shrugging her shoulders as if playing it down as unimportant. "We've been living in Seattle Centre, and Richard had been working in a small company outside the city, as an electrician engineer. He's been driving home one evening, and a drunken guy had disregarded the red light of his traffic sign. The police had said that surely he'd crashed into my husband's car with more than sixty miles per hour. My husband had died on the way to hospital, while that guy, miraculously, had survived."

"And now you wonder why God has kept that drunken guy alive while he'd taken your husband from you." Gabe said and she stared at him.

It hadn't been a question, and it hadn't been a guess either, but it had been a statement resulting of knowledge and she wondered how it came that this man would know.

"It's just the logical conclusion and an explanation as to why you wouldn't visit church or your prayer-group anymore." Gabe said, explained, even though she hadn't asked for an explanation. "Didn't you have someone in your prayer-group you could have been talking to?"

"Sure, I did." She shrugged her shoulders. "But they couldn't give answers."

"I fear there isn't an answer." Gabe said. "God is so very much bigger than we are, he has so much more knowledge than we have, having a greater overview over all things – we often have no answers to the questions when it comes to his decisions, but we can trust that all things God is doing, he's doing to our best. And we know that all things work together for good to those that love God, to those who are called according to his purpose. We are his children, and just like you won't give your children everything they want, because you know that it wouldn't be good for them, never mind how angry they're with you for not getting what they want – God is doing the same."

"What good did it do when God has taken my husband?" She asked, scowling, and he knew that she wasn't over his death yet.

"Do you know what had happened if he hadn't taken your husband early?" He sighed. "Do not take me wrong, Penelope, I do believe that it's been tragically, and I can't imagine the pain and the loss you feel – what is another reason your prayer group couldn't give you an answer. If we're confronted with tragedy, then we often don't know what to say because we fear that we could say the wrong thing, that we could hurt the person even more, especially if it is a newly happened tragedy. We are human, and we react human, do not blame your prayer-group for lacking answer in a time you would have needed them, I guess, they'd been at a loss just like you've been."

"I know." She sighed, and she really did. She'd been angry at them for some time, but she'd forgotten it since long now. "But that doesn't make it easier."

"No, it doesn't." Gabe admitted. "But if you trust in God, and that he's making all things working together for your good, then you will realize that he's had a reason for taking your husband, even though you don't know what could be a reason."

"Who's God anyway!" She sighed. Sure, she understood Gabe's reasoning, but – really, who was God anyway!

"Got questions?" Sarah laughed. "Try Alpha."

"What's Alpha?" She asked.

"Well, Alpha is an evangelistic course which introduces the basics of Christian faith through a series of talks and discussions." Sarah said. "For twelve weeks we meet once a week, and during that time there are several discussions like, who's Jesus? And why believing in God? What's forgiveness for and so on. We sit together, have snacks and dinner, and you can ask any questions you like."

"I've never heard of that." She said, frowning. "I don't know, I'll think about it."

"We have an Alpha starting in a few weeks." Gabe said. "If you like, feel welcome."

"I really don't know, yet." She sighed.

"It's up to you." Gabe laughed. "But I'd be happy to meet you there."

Sure he'd be, she couldn't help thinking for a moment. He'd get another _'lost soul'_ into his church, after all. But then she took a deep breath to get herself back to reason. Not every churchgoer was bad and surely that guy didn't plan to lure her into a net of whatever. Maybe it really was time to start over and to trust someone who could lead her back to God, she didn't know.

She didn't even know if she wanted to go that path back to God.

She didn't even know if it was the right path for her.

Right now, she didn't really know anything – not because she was kind of depressive or sad, or whatever – no, but because this guy had thrown her off her balance, because this guy, or rather those guys, Cameron Chandler as well as Gabe Heavensville, had planted something in her mind, in her heart, in whatever.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter five: … a snakebite and the boy on the roof …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	5. whatever the question, the answer is God

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"We have an Alpha starting in a few weeks." Gabe said. "If you like, feel welcome."_

 _"I really don't know, yet." She sighed._

 _"It's up to you." Gabe laughed. "But I'd be happy to meet you there."_

 _Sure he'd be, she couldn't help thinking for a moment. He'd get another 'lost soul' into his church, after all. But then she took a deep breath to get herself back to reason. Not every churchgoer was bad and surely that guy didn't plan to lure her into a net of whatever. Maybe it really was time to start over and to trust someone who could lead her back to God, she didn't know._

 _She didn't even know if she wanted to go that path back to God._

 _She didn't even know if it was the right path for her._

 _Right now, she didn't really know anything – not because she was kind of depressive or sad, or whatever – no, but because this guy had thrown her off her balance, because this guy, or rather those guys, Cameron Chandler as well as Gabe Heavensville, had planted something in her mind, in her heart, in whatever._

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter five – whatever the question, the answer is God**

 **Or – how events take their course …**

 **July 15th 1939, Saturday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Cameron Chandler**

"Where's Wohehiv?" He asked, after the subject had strayed from Penelope and her visiting Alpha, because he knew that if they went on with the subject, then they'd rather shun her away than doing any good, and so he would just trust in God to lead her well. "Isn't he here? I haven't seen that Indian for months now."

"He's been called to the hospital shortly before noon." The booming voice of Norman came into the conversation, the man sitting down at their table, leaning back with a tired sigh and he guessed that he'd had a stressful day in the garage.

Norman Stormway was a faithful man in his best years that had experienced several miracles in his garage, and he didn't shy back from giving testimony of what had happened. One day he'd had a Ford Pick-up on the car-lift when the entire thing came down while he'd been laying beneath to look at the exhaust of the car – and as he wasn't a small and delicate guy but rather corpulent, using harmless words, the car would have landed on him, but it hadn't, the car lift had stopped just half an inch above him – alright, let it be an inch or two – remaining there until he'd rolled forth from beneath the car before it had come down completely with a loud crash.

However, sometimes Norman had so little work to do in his garage that he had to send Edgar and Dunstan home, while sometimes he didn't have enough people to get all the work done somewhat properly, and he guessed that today it had been such a day.

"The Roberts-boy and his friend have been haunting snakes in the outskirts, more than a mile ahead of my garage." Norman then continued. "And he'd been bitten by a timber rattlesnake. Little Timmy came running down the hillslopes, all the while calling out for help. He's told what happened, and I'd called the ranger. Really, I never understood how he could allow children to go for snake-haunting, and without the antivenom, even. Isn't it enough that the teens are going out there to make money with them? However, taking the car was impossible in that area and so the boy already was paralysed by the time we finally arrived there – and until the ranger was present his system had shut down, and he's lost consciousness."

"Owen Roberts?" Sarah asked, frowning, after all, the boy was her student and he knew it because they'd talked about it during the Christmas holidays. "What happened?"

"Well, apparently they'd caught the snake with a forked branch, most likely the way they'd seen the older boys doing it." Norman answered, sounding angry. "They'd successfully caught the snake, put it in a sack, and Owen had put the sack over his shoulder to carry it home – the snake had bitten through the sack and through the thin layer of his shirt into his shoulder."

"How long after the bite did he get the antivenom?" Gabe asked, his face serious.

"That's not sure." Norman sighed, shaking his head. "More than a mile for little Timmy to run through the hillslopes and the wooded area – it had taken us nearly an hour until we've been there as Timmy had lost his way more than once. If he's lost his way when running for help, too, then it's more than two hours."

"That doesn't sound too good." He said. "Rattlesnakes are the leading cause of snakebite injuries in North America and the physicans should be used to such, but two hours is a long time, and the shoulder is a bad spot for a snakebite, really."

"That and Wohehiv said the snake had very strong, long and healthy fangs and a full venom sack." Norman said.

"He's been there?" Sarah asked. "You said he's been called to the hospital."

"He wasn't, but that man has some knowledge when it comes to snake bites." The mechanic huffed. "He'd just seen the bite and could see that it's been from a snake with long and healthy fangs, and that it had injected a lot of venom. He also said that most likely it's been an angry and hungry snake, due to the way the bite was formed, it's been an aggressive bite, not a gentle or careful one because the snake would be just disturbed by the boys – not to mention that the snake had been in the sack still, which the boys had tied up, and he'd said it was an old snake and therefore had rather potential venom."

"I always thought that rattlesnakes perform a good deal of rattling and feinting before striking." Penelope mused, looking worried.

"Generally they aren't quick to strike, sure." Gabe said, sighing. "They tend to avoid wide-open spaces where they cannot hide from predators, and generally avoid humans if they are aware of their approach. Rattlesnakes rarely bite unless they feel threatened or provoked. But if they're hungry and maybe even angry, and considering that most likely the boys had been hunting it, being inexperienced in the task and therefore having annoyed the snake more than anything else, then the chance that it would strike is higher than normal."

"And what's the venom doing in the boy's body?" Sarah asked.

"Well, rattlesnake venom contains some components which are designed to immobilize and disable the prey." Gabe said. "And it contains some digestive enzymes which break down tissue to prepare for later ingestion."

"And what are his chances of survival?" The woman asked, clearly worried now.

"I'm not entirely sure, but potentially spoken, the rattlesnake is one of the most dangerous snakes in North America and their venom is largely neurotoxic." Gabe said, and for a moment he shook his head at the thought that the man spent too much time with Wohehiv. "The most important factor in survival is the time elapsed between the bite and treatment. If antivenom treatment is given within an hour of the bite, then the chances of recovery are good. But it might be more than two hours, the bite is in the shoulder and close to the heart and as children generally experience more severe symptoms because they receive a larger amount of venom per unit of body mass, added to the general state of the snake being angry, old and having long and healthy fangs, I dare say it's clearly a life-threatening situation."

"I suggest we take it as a prayer concern." He said.

"Let's do that right now." Gabe added and he inclined his head, because there was no sense in waiting, after all.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Conner Uí Ceallaigh**

"I don't think he's on his holidays." Bradyn said, and he agreed, because the Indian was gone for far too long, having left his log cabin rather hastily – and that's been hours ago already.

He'd seen the man leaving the hut, just throwing the door shut without locking it, and then the man had run to the red Cherokee – and he'd driven away as if the devil would be behind him, causing the dust in the yard and on the street to linger there for several time until it lowered back to the ground. So, he guessed that something must have happened and he was in hospital, most likely someone having had a stroke, or a heart attack because of the heat. His mom always said that right now the heat was most of the reasons for strokes and heart attacks.

"You think he'll come back anytime soon?" His cousin asked, taking their last apple.

"Dunno." He shook his head. "If it's been a heart attack, or something like that, then he won't be back anytime soon."

There was a pause during which they silently watched the house of the Indian, both of them following their own thoughts for some time, both of them watching the trees, the leaves gently moving in the soft breeze, both of them lazing in the shadows the trees up here gave.

Yesterday afternoon they'd found a stump between the eastern tree-line, and nearby a bundle dangling from a tree – and upon taking a closer look, upon unpacking the bundle wrapped in the hide of some big animal, they'd found a small bible, several pencils, and a paper-blank book. Of course they'd been curious, and so – even though they'd known that surely it had to be the Indian's things, and that they shouldn't do that – they'd skimmed through the paper-blank book. They'd found an Indian text, at least that was what they thought it could be as it clearly was neither English nor French, and surely no Italian or Spanish either. It looked strange and they were unable to read it, but considering the numeration and anything else, they guessed that they were verses from the bible, beginning at Genesis, chapter one verse one – in other words, the Cheyenne was about to translate the bible in his own language, something they'd thought was real cool.

Quickly they'd re-wrapped the things, had put the bundle back from where they'd taken it, all the while marveling at the thought that the man was translating the bible into a different language, and no normal language either, considering that they couldn't even make out what kind of language it was in the first place.

Sure, they knew that the bible had been translated into several different languages, but they didn't know anyone who'd be able doing that. It was something big, after all, wasn't it? It was like translating sixty-six books, wasn't it? You see, it was hard to read sixty-six books in your own language if it weren't comic books to begin with, but translating them?

That was just – whoa!

"Mom's baking the bread for supper tomorrow." Bradyn said, sighing, leaning back against a tree and getting him out of his thoughts. "But I guess I'll be ill."

"Hmm." He made – so, his aunt had told Bradyn to come to church, too, just like his mom – and he knew why Bradyn didn't want to go, namely because of the same reason why he didn't want to go either, because he felt guilty for lying and for spying on the Cheyenne. "Guess it's a bit strange if we're both ill at the same time, don't you think?"

"Dunno, we could have the flu or something like that, that's contagious, after all." Bradyn suggested.

"Mom would keep me in bed for several days if I had the flu." Conner shook his head. "I'd better not have the flu."

"You think mom and aunt Kayleigh would believe it if we were both ill?" Bradyn asked and he sighed – because he knew that, no, most likely it would work in the morning, but after both their moms had met at church and realized that both their children were ill after they'd been together for several days now, they'd either think they're really ill and keep them in bed for only God knew how long, or they would smell a rat a hundred miles away. Both of which they couldn't afford – because then they'd be unable climbing Mount Eagle anytime soon.

"Guess we'll have to go." He shook his head. "And maybe it's best anyway, 'cause then we could ask God to forgive what we've done for the past few days."

"Hmmm, maybe you're right." Bradyn agreed. "You think he's very angry?" The other boy then asked.

"Dunno." He shrugged his shoulder. "We've been lying, and we've been spying on Wohehiv, and we've been planning to do something forbidden."

"Dunno." Bradyn shrugged, too. "You know, we haven't been lying, we've just been not telling everything. And climbing Mount Eagle isn't exactly forbidden."

"Not telling the truth is the same as is lying." He shook his head, because he knew better than that. They'd learned that in their Saturday morning lessons at the church. If you held back the truth, knowingly and with trying to gain something out of it, hoping that people wouldn't find out, then that was the same as lying. "And Mount Eagle isn't closed off, but it's a nature wildlife reserve because of the eagles and their nests, especially in spring and summer when they hatch and raise their young. Mount Eagle is always short of being closed off."

"But it's not closed off, yet." Bradyn argued.

"Not particularly." He sighed. "But again, it's just wrong to walk the border of what's legal and illegal. If it's _'just short of something'_ then it's wrong doing it."

"The Indian is climbing Mount Eagle, too." Bradyn said.

"Sure he does." He shrugged his shoulder. "He's working together with the ranger in his free time, and he's looking after the eagles, making sure that everything is alright up there. He's allowed to climb those mountains, all of them, even those that are closed off because someone has to look after the nature and to care for things."

"Nature could just as well look after itself." Bradyn growled, but he knew better, because his dad often was speaking to Wohehiv and the ranger, too.

"Maybe." He shrugged it off, because he didn't want this discussion. He already had a bad feeling, he already had a bad conscience, he didn't need that discussion, added to his own guiltiness.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Walter Sherman**

It was getting dark and Walter dared to leave the roof. He'd slept until ten and then he'd started reading in the book he'd declared his new favorite book, namely next year's chemistry book, and for a moment he scowled at the thought of his chemistry teacher who'd surely not believe his eyes if he saw him reading this particular book, because not only was Professor Hrothgar his most hated teacher, but he was sure that he, Walter, was the Chemistry Professor's most hated student, too – alright, one of his most hated students, because he was sure that the Professor hated Montgomery more than him – whatever, it was a mutual feeling and he was glad that not only _he_ had to suffer, but the Professor, too.

He'd then nibbled at a roll he'd nicked yesterday, considering his situation and making plans for the next few days.

He'd come here Wednesday evening.

Sure, he'd boarded the train home, but he'd gone to the last cabin and when no one had looked, he'd left the train.

Wednesday had been their last school day, but they hadn't had lessons since Friday last week. Monday they'd cleaned out the classrooms, Tuesday they'd cleaned out their houses, gathering everything they'd scattered all over the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room, and Wednesday they'd packed their things and had cleaned out their bedrooms.

Some of the others had been picked up by their parents, and some had boarded the train for the ride home, just like him, but he'd left the train before leaving Whitechapel Mount Station.

No one had seen him, no one had missed him last year, and no one _would_ miss him this year. He'd just hide at Whitechapel Mount Station the day the train for school arrived, and when everyone left the train, he'd just blend in with all the other students. No one would notice.

It had worked last year, and it would work this year, too.

For some time last year he'd thought that his parents would send the police after him, but apparently they hadn't. And later, when he'd come back to school after the holidays, he'd thought that surely his parents had talked with the teachers and that he'd be in trouble then – but again, nothing had happened. He'd been nervous again, when he'd boarded the train this year, wondering if there might be a teacher telling him that this time he was to remain on the train, making sure that he did, but again, nothing had happened.

He hadn't heard anything from his parents for over a year now, but he didn't really care.

He'd never been happy with them anyway and living here on the roofs of New Heaven's Valley, it was better than going home, even though it might be for two months only. Anything was better than going home and really, it was warm, nearly too warm, even through the night, it didn't rain and even if it would, the roof weathering would shelter him from rain.

He'd picked this particular roof, because not only was it actually three roofs that met, namely the roofs from the houses of the doc and the lawyer, that met with the higher roof of New Heaven's High, but also because the place was sheltered by the large stairway that led onto the roof of the school that actually served as a place for the older students – that it was what he guessed, because there was one thing or another and surely they wouldn't allow the younger students to play on the roof, never mind it being a walk-on flat roof or not.

It was a small, little, room only, that spot between the roofs – but one, it was enough for him, two, it was shelter from weather, three, he had easy access to his shelter, four, no one could see him, and five, the school building was uninhabited for the summer holidays. He could slip in and get a book here or there, like he'd nicked the chemistry book. Last year he'd nicked a mat, a blanket and a pillow from the school's nursery-room, but he'd left a note, apologizing and he'd left a dollar note, too.

He'd also entered the library last summer, taking a few books, but again he'd left an apology and a dollar-note. Sure, he knew that it hadn't been enough for all the books he'd taken, and neither had it been enough for the mat, the pillow and the blanket, but well, he'd needed those things.

He'd then found a flowerpot in the trash-bin somewhere on American Chestnut Avenue and in the garden from the Hotel he'd taken a few stipes of parsley, roots and earth included to plant it in his pot. It's been great to the rolls or a sausage here or there if he could tell the butcher that he'd need some old sausage for his dog.

Not that he had a dog, but he liked a sausage once in a while. That was the only bad thing concerning his place between the roofs, it wasn't really easy to get food.

His parents were still paying the school fees, whatever reason for they did, he didn't know, but they hadn't sent any pocket-money this year. Not that they'd sent him a big allowance for the last years when he'd been at Norfolk Elementary Board, a boarding school, too, he'd gotten ten or fifteen dollars a month if he'd been lucky and his parents hadn't forgotten it, but since he'd run off last year they hadn't sent anything at all.

He didn't care about that, though.

He'd managed last year, and he'd manage this year, too – one way or another – so what.

His teacher for religious education, Mr. Chandler, had told them about God, and that God always cared for his people if they asked him to, and he'd really asked God to care for him this summer the way he'd done last year. So, he guessed it would work, one way or another.

He'd seen Mr. Chandler this afternoon. He'd known that he lived here, he'd seen him here last summer, too, after all – but it was a strange thing anyway, seeing him here, outside of school.

Mr. Chandler was one of the better teachers at Hathaway and he'd be happy having the man as his head of house – but of course he wouldn't be so lucky. His head of house was Professor Frogman.

Kermit Frogman – really, who on earth would name their kid Kermit? Especially if their family name was Frogman?

However, he had to deal with Professor Frogman, the deputy headmaster, and he wasn't overly happy about that. Frogman didn't really make sure that they were learning. Frogman didn't really care at all, he guessed. It was better than with his parents, though, who didn't care either or they would have started looking for him, asking him why he hadn't been home last summer, sure, but somehow he'd like someone who'd finally care.

Alright – it could be worse, he couldn't help chuckling. For example he could have Professor Hrothgar as his head of house, and – _that_ – really would be horror.

Professor Hrothgar and him, he was sure that it's been hate from the first moment since they'd met for the first time, at the beginning of last school year.

Maybe it's just been because Hrothgar didn't like Frogman and therefore didn't like his students either, because anyone could tell that the Chemistry Professor didn't like the Frogman students, always giving them more detention while he favored his own students, but he was sure that there was more, because Hrothgar didn't just dislike him, he _hated_ him with a passion that bordered on obsession, he was sure 'bout that.

There was no chemistry lesson during which he wasn't ridiculed by the Professor, during which he didn't get a failed and during which he didn't get extra homework in form of an essay he had to write, or detention. He must have spent more time with the Chemistry Professor than with his head of house.

Alright, that was an exaggeration, but considering the little fact that Professor Hrothgar didn't like him, he really kept him in his classroom for detention far too often.

He hated it.

He wouldn't mind the added work, and he wouldn't mind the detention, but he hated detention with Hrothgar, because the professor always ridiculed him even more, making his time as horrible as possible – and for speaking the truth, he'd always had stomach aches before chemistry lessons. He liked chemistry, but not chemistry lessons with Professor Hrothgar.

"If you just sent someone who'd finally care, God." He said, leaning back on his mat. "My parents don't, my teachers don't, do _you_ even care? Mr. Chandler said you do. But if you do, wouldn't you then send someone who'd care 'bout me, too? And while you're considering my case, couldn't you just send me another Chemistry Professor, too? Because I really don't get along with Professor Hrothgar. Uhm … well, and thanks for the rolls, and thanks for listening in the first place."

Well, he didn't know if it would help, but he guessed it was the right thing to do, and taking a deep breath he left the roof, carefully descending the stairway, making sure that he wasn't seen and making sure that he made no noise. He desperately needed candles and maybe he could find a few tomatoes and an apple or two in one of the gardens. It was late, after all, and as tomorrow was Sunday, and as people would go to service, they'd go to bed early.

One would think that people went to one party or another during their weekend, to enjoy themselves and to – well, to relax from the weeklong work, but not these people here in New Heaven's Valley. He'd watched them all summer last year, and they didn't go partying. They enjoyed coffee together and they enjoyed a gaming evening, or an afternoon together, barbequing and such things – but no parties with a lot of celebrities, alcohol and then a typical scene because one woman was flirting with a married guy and the woman's husband noticing.

That would be the party his parents would go to, each weekend and during the summer holidays on weekdays, too – just to avoid being together with _him_.

Well, those people seemed boring, but they were happy, and he liked them much more than he liked the people living in the world he came from, because those people might be rich and they might have a lot of fun, but they weren't happy, they weren't really alive.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **July 16th 1939, Sunday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Dorian Cleveland**

Strange, really.

He'd never before seen a church like _that_!

More than once Bradyn and Conner had asked them to come to church on Sundays, and so far they'd always said no – 'cause church, really … who went to church on a Sunday morning instead of sleeping in? To church, of all the places one could go!

But well, it was the summer holidays, and it was boring.

In Seattle there had been a lot of interesting places you could go to, downtown, for example, with a lot of shops and milk-bars on either side, the park and the big playground, the skating rink by the park and the big library – even though they'd never been _there_.

They'd often been to the cinema in Seattle, slipping in secretly and watching movies their mother wouldn't allow them to watch, that had been fun – especially if it were horror-movies, because really, who'd believe all the idiotic effects they were showing? Especially the _'Werewolf of London'_ has been so plain obvious, but it's been great. The best movies however had been _'Dracula's daughter'_ and _'Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street'_.

Well, sure – New Heaven's Valley did have all those things, too.

There was Pop's Soda Shoppe, a milk-bar like the one they'd had in Seattle, just smaller, a park with a playground – just smaller, a library – which they wouldn't visit, ever, and a skating-rink … but not for ice-skating. But this town didn't have a downtown the way they were used to, because there were the houses people lived in and mixed in between there were the shops, or the people had the shops in their houses where they lived – and there weren't too many shops anyway. It was a town with just – what? Ten or eleven streets? A dozen maybe? But surely not more. Well, and there was a cinema in New Heaven's Valley, too – and of course they'd tried to slip in, because really, there had been _'The dark eyes of London'_ played in the cinema and they'd tried to get in and watch it.

But they'd been caught and their mom hadn't been too happy about it, really. They'd been grounded for a fortnight – and the lecture they'd gotten! In other words, they couldn't slip in to watch _'The son of Frankenstein'_ either – and he was really pissed off by that, because _'The son of Frankenstein'_ was made by universal studios, just like _'Dracula's daughter'_ , what meant that it would be just as great. Universal studios were by far making the best movies at all.

"They write that they'd washed their feet before meals." Damien whispered. They'd been browsing through a book Conner had given them – the bible – and they'd found one thing or another they didn't really understand. He knew that their mom had that same book at home, too, but she'd never read that book – at least to their knowledge. "Why did they do that? And why wouldn't we if it were so important? After all, we're re-enacting this last supper, don't we?"

"Cameron Chandler." A man who sat beside him introduced himself, leaning close. "You want me telling you that story?"

"Sure." He answered, because really, a good story was always a good thing. He'd been so sure that at a church there would be some preacher holding a boring sermon, speaking a few more boring prayers, and then they'd all go home – but they were sitting here, eating and drinking, and there was nothing boring about it – and there wasn't a boring sermon either.

The guy sitting beside him had spoken a prayer before they'd started eating, but it had been no boring prayer like the one he'd often heard people reciting, the thing starting with 'our father in heaven' or something like that, but the guy had spoken to God as if he knew him personally, just the way _he_ would speak to Damien or one of his friends, just the way he'd speak to his mother if he asked her for something, or if he apologized for something, strange, really. He'd never before seen a church like that.

"Alright." The guy, Mr. Chandler, said, blinking in thought. "I think, it is important that you know about Jesus, the Son of God, and how he'd always said the truth, never mind if people liked it or not, and so the chief priests in Jerusalem had met in the mansion of their boss to plan the killing of Jesus because he'd told them off more than once. Meanwhile Jesus had come to Bethany where Simon had invited him for lunch because Jesus had healed him from – something like cancer. Jesus had often healed people, and he'd done a lot of other miracles, too. He'd always helped people if they needed help and he loved everyone – what was the reason as to why he was loved by most people. Only the chief priests had hated Jesus, because he'd been teaching people what was right and what was wrong. He'd been teaching people what the words of God really meant, and with his actions he'd shown them how very wrong _they_ actually were. However, in the house of Simon, whom Jesus had healed of cancer, a woman had come with very expensive hair gel which she had covered Jesus' hair with – nothing we would do today, but back then it had been a very great gesture.

Judas, one of Jesus' friends, was driven up the wall when seeing that. _'I'd have to work for a year until I'd be able buying that stuff and this woman is wasting it! We could have just sold it and given the money to the poor.'_ He'd said, but in truth Judas didn't give a damn about the poor, because he had been a deceiver himself who'd often had his hand in the community funds he was managing.

However, Jesus had told his apprentice: _'What's wrong with you? That woman just meant well, so leave her alone. There will always be poor and bummers, while I won't be always here – so care about them after I'm gone. And without knowing it she's prepared me for my burial anyway.'_ But that won't change the fact, that Judas was mad as hops, and so he went to the high priests to make a deal with them. He'd turn Jesus in to the priests, and in return they'd pay him about 1.300 Dollar, a monthly wage."

"They had Dollars, back then?" He asked, frowning. He'd always thought that the US Dollar came up in August 1785 after the value of the prior currency had been sunk to just 1/40th of their face value, they'd learned that in history. By May 1781 Continentals had become worthless in the truest sense of the word and America had been forced by the inflation to invent a new currency, what had come true in August 1785.

"Of course not, Dorian." Mr. Chandler chuckled and for a moment he wondered how it was that this guy knew his name. "It's been thirty silver coins – I'm just not good in telling stories the hard way if they can be told so much more imaginative. It's been a monthly wage, and surely not enough for a betrayal. However, the Passover-feast had come, a feast where people ate lamb and bread made without yeast – something your mom surely wouldn't do."

"Mom buys our bread from the baker in Main Avenue." He said, trying to imagine his mom baking bread.

"Most people do." Mr. Chandler said. "My person included. Well – back to the story. There's been that Passover-feast, and Jesus wanted to have a party with his apprentices, too. And so he'd sent Peter and John, two of his students, to prepare everything. _'Go to town.'_ Jesus had told them. _'And if you see someone carrying a crate of beer to one of the taverns in Jerusalem, then just follow him, and the owner of the house he enters, you ask about the room that's booked for the party. He'll show you to a large room on the second floor where you can prepare everything.'_

Later in the evening they were having dinner, sitting together in the room Peter and John had prepared, but Satan had already talked Judas into performing his plan and into betraying Jesus. At that time Jesus had already known that his time on earth had been over, and he'd felt the need to show his students how much he loved them. He also had known that God, his Father, had given him absolute power over everything and with this knowledge he stood and wrapped a towel 'round his waist. Then he'd poured some water into a bowl and started washing his friends' feet, and drying them with the towel – now you must know that back then, during Jesus' time, people didn't wear socks but sandals on their bare feet only. They didn't even know what socks were and would think they're sacks we're wearing on our feet if they saw us. Back then they didn't have road sweepers either, and so the streets were dusty and dirty – and as people mostly travelled by foot, their feet got _very_ dirty. Now, you also must know that taverns and guesthouses had tables just a foot above the ground, what was the reason as to why you can read in the bible that people were laying at table, and any good tavern had servants who would wash the feet of the guests before common meals."

Well, he'd seen pictures of people washing other people's feet, but he'd never before associated them with the bible – but now, now that this guy mentioned it, it sounded logical, because he'd seen pictures of people laying at a table, too – even though the concept of people washing their feet, compared to people washing their hands, today, felt strange somehow.

"Well, you know – Jesus has been teaching his disciples for three years, just like you would go through three years of apprenticeship." The guy beside him continued. "And after those three years Jesus had organized the last party – even though he'd known that he would die the very next day, that Judas, one of his disciples and friends, would betray him. Imagine what Jesus must have felt at that, at the knowledge that one of his closest friends would betray him. Any people would have taken their so-called friend to task, telling him what he could do with his so-called friendship – not so Jesus, however. He'd known that he'd die, soon, but anyway he'd sent out his apprentices to prepare this last party and he was happy about this last meal with his disciples which he loved very much."

"I would quit that friendship!" He said, scowling. Of course he'd heard about the story, about Judas betraying Jesus and Jesus being crucified because of that, he'd heard about it at school in religious education, but he'd never before really imagined what it must have meant to Jesus, his friend betraying him, being responsible for his upcoming death.

"I bet you would." The guy beside him, Mr. Chandler, said. "Anyone would, that's what people do. But Jesus had done the strangest thing. When they had gone to the upper room in one of the taverns of Jerusalem, just like he had ordered, there had been no servant in this room to wash their feet. Of course the disciples didn't wash each other's feet before the common meal, because washing feet was reserved to the lowest of servants and rather would they have lain at table with dirty feet than washing each other's feet. But then Jesus had poured water into a basin and had begun to wash the disciples' feet. Imagine Conner here would start washing your feet. You'd surely be startled, pulling back and telling him that _that's_ a no-go."

"Sure I would." He gasped, trying to imagine Conner or Bradyn washing his feet and he shuddered.

"And the disciples had been startled, too." The guy, Mr. Chandler, said. "When Jesus had started washing their feet, he'd done the work of the lowliest of servants, startling the disciples into silence at this act of humility and humbleness. Imagine, Jesus Christ, their Lord and Master would wash the feet of his disciples when it would have been their work to wash _his_. Since there was no servant present to wash their feet, it would never have occurred to them to even wash _one another's_ feet, and when the Lord himself stooped to this lowly task, they'd been shocked and only Peter, never being at a loss for words, had protested, because he hadn't been up to that, and when it's been his turn, he'd shook his head: _'Hey, boss, what are you doing?'_ He'd asked.

 _'You won't understand now, but you will.'_ Jesus had answered.

 _'Never, Jesus!'_ Peter had protested when Jesus had knelt down before him. _'You're not washing my feet!'_ But Jesus had looked at him with the words: _'If I won't wash your feet, you won't have a share with me.'_

 _'Alright, then wait, I'll go and take a bath.'_ Peter had called out, being a guy who did things the right way or didn't do things at all.

 _'You've taken a shower this morning, so you won't need washing your entire body, except of your feet, you're alright the way you are – you're all clean, with one exception.'_ "

"With the exception, Jesus had meant Judas, hadn't he, Mr. Chandler?" He asked, trying to figure out what the man meant – and he was sure that there was more behind the comment than just their feet being clean for meals. This Jesus guy surely had been a guy who loved speaking in riddles.

"Cameron will do." The Mr. Chandler guy said. "There is no need for a Mr. or for family names. But you are correct, Jesus was speaking ofm Judas. _'I tell you, one of you will betray me into death.'_ He'd said, and the disciples got upset and worried, and they all, one after another, asked _'You're not speaking of me, Jesus, do you?'_

 _'It's the guy who's dipping the bread into the dip together with me.'_ Jesus had said, and when it was Judas asking _'you're not speaking of me, Lord?'_ Jesus had answered _'I am indeed speaking of you. Just go and do what you must, but do it quickly'_."

"Why didn't they just take him and throw him out? Or kill him? Or something like that?" He asked. He'd never really read the stories in the bible, even though he'd heard about one story or another, and surely he'd never really thought about any story of Jesus, either, but being betrayed by one of his best friends, that was just – well, it was a no-go!

"For several reasons." Mr. Chandler, Cameron said. "One is, that Jesus had known about his death and that he'd known he'd be betrayed. It was the fulfillment of what had been prophesied in the Old Testament – so why going against it to begin with? Second, is, that God has made it very clear before the first sin, that the consequence of sin is death. So, God's justice demands punishment of sin, but God's love and mercy have made him to pay himself for it as he doesn't want to destroy us, although we would have deserved it. For better understanding, even in our court system, if a person is fined 50.000 dollars and unable to pay the sum, then it is acceptable if some other person comes in to pay the fine for the person fined. In our system that works for a monetary fine only, but in God's system it works for a death sentence, too, and therefore Jesus' death on the cross is the substitutionary payment of all our sins that would require death penalty of mankind – and if I accept the substitution, then I am free – if I insist to face God on my own terms, however, then I will have to bear the just condemnation of my sin myself, and that will never work out well because we're so deep in that we can do nothing to pay for our sins ourselves. And three is, that Jesus knew it was necessary, because only if his blood was spilled, would our sins be washed away. And last but not least, Jesus would never have killed someone, not even his enemy – on the contrary, in the _'Sermon on the Mount'_ he has taught us to love our enemies just the same as we love our friends. Well, and so Judas stood, took a piece of bread, and then left into the darkness of the night."

"That's illogical, and that's what makes the bible unpredictable, really." He said. "It wouldn't work in a movie. I've never seen one that wasn't predictable, and I've seen a lot of movies. I'd like watching _'the son of Frankenstein'_ , but they've thrown us out of the cinema 'cause we're too young."

"I would agree on that." The guy said, his eyebrow lifted.

"In Seattle we've seen _'Dracula's daughter'_ and _'Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street'_ and it's been great." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

"But – ignoring what the law says – your mother wouldn't want you watching those movies." The guy said.

"Guess not." He admitted, grimacing. "She's been very angry when the cinema called her in the middle of the night after we've tried to slip in to watch _'the dark eyes of London'._ "

"Hmmm." Mr. Chandler said, only _'hmmm'_ , but he had the bad feeling that the guy wanted to say more.

"So, what happened then?" He asked, just to get the subject off him.

"Well, _'soon I'll be gone.'_ Jesus had said after Judas had walked off." Mr. Chandler – Cameron – continued. " _'You'll look for me, but like I've said to the Jews, no way! You won't be able to go where I go. Just so that you know – that's the last time we're having this party. Next time we'll have it in another dimension.'_ Then Jesus had taken a piece of bread, he'd prayed, and then he'd broken the bread into pieces which he'd given to his friends with the words that this would be his body which would be given for them. Then he'd taken a glass of wine, had prayed over it, and then he'd shared it with his friends and said: _'This is like my blood that needs to flow so that the shit you're always doing, can be forgiven. With this we're making a new contract between men and God – and this wine is like the blood I'd use to sign the contract, too. Make sure to have this party, often, remember me and remember what I've done for you. I'll give you a new rule: love each other the way I've loved you, and to the degree people can see the love between you, people who're not believing in God will notice that you're my people.'_ And then they'd sung a song to worship God and went on their way to the Mount of Olives."

"Where Jesus had been taken captive the next day." He said, thinking.

"Exactly." Mr. Chandler said. "To come back to your question – Jesus washing the feet of his disciples had a meaning in several ways. First, for Jesus it was the display of love, and I personally think that it's the most important meaning. Jesus has loved his disciples so very much, that he'd washed the feet of his disciples, and this act of love foreshadowed his ultimate act of love on the cross. Second, for Jesus it also was the display of his humility and his servanthood. When Jesus came to earth, he didn't come as a king or conqueror, but as a suffering servant. He didn't come to be served, but to serve. Third, Jesus' attitude of servanthood was in direct contrast to that of his disciples who'd recently been arguing amongst themselves as to who of them would be the greatest. And finally – it showed that Jesus has loved even those who'd betray him."

"Just wait a moment – has Jesus been washing Juda's feet, too?" He asked, blinking at the man stupidly.

"Of course he has." Mr. Chandler said, shrugging his shoulders as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "The washing of feet was before the discovery about who'd betray him – even though Jesus had known it already before the party. It shows us that his words in Matthew 5,43 are absolute true words: _'You have heard that it was said, love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemies. Pray for those who treat you badly and then you will be children who are truly like your father in heaven. He lets the sun rise for all people, whether they are good or bad. He sends rain to those who do right and to those who do wrong. And if you love only those who love you, why should you get reward fort that? Even the tax collectors do that, and if you are nice to your friends only, you are no better than anyone else. Even the people who don't know God are nice to their friends.'_ It proves that Jesus has never lied and that he's always lived up to what he's been preaching. Jesus loved Judas, even though he'd betrayed him into death, and he'd shown that. And God is the same way – he hates the sin, but not the sinner."

"But if it was so important, then why wouldn't we do that, today?" He asked, still thinking. Even though he didn't know why, he was impressed by what Mr. Cameron had told him, and by the way he'd made him thinking about it, but he still didn't understand why it wasn't practiced today if they still celebrated the last supper.

"Well, do you know the story about the plagues that the God inflicted upon Egypt to persuade the Pharaoh to release the Israelites from slavery?" That Cameron guy asked.

"We've learned about it in religious education." He said, leaning back in his chair, thinking. "The Pharaoh had given in after the tenth plague, when God had passed through Egypt to kill every firstborn of both, people and animals."

"Exactly." Mr. Chandler said. "And do you know what God had ordered the Israelites to do, to make sure that none of their own children would be killed, too?"

"Well, God had ordered them to smear blood on their doorframes." He answered, shuddering. "That's gross."

"That it is." Cameron answered. "We wouldn't do that, today. But it's always been the blood of an innocent lamb needed to be offered for sin, just like Jesus had acted as the innocent lamb when he'd gone at the cross to pay for our sins. However, back then the Israelites had smeared the blood of innocent lambs over their doorframes and the angel of death had passed each house that had been marked thus. We wouldn't do that, today, because Jesus has paid for our sins with his blood. We're living in an entirely different time and culture, and just like we wouldn't offer animals to God, we don't wash our feet before we sit at a table as we have our feet below that table and not at the same height."

"'k." He said, because he could understand _that_. "But, we don't normally break bread into pieces and share it with others. We're cutting bread into slices and make sandwiches."

"That's true." Cameron said. "But breaking bread into pieces and sharing it with others isn't so strange. It's something that easily can be done, and as Jesus has ordered his disciples to do just that, and to have this party, to have this party, often, we're having it, too. Once every other month we have this party. People bring bread, and they bring wine. They bring cheese and grapes, and some bring dips, while the church provides the lamb. Then we're sitting together and we share all the food with each other – and we break the bread and we share the wine, while we remember Jesus. I'm sure that you and I are not the only one having the same conversation, but that all those people here are talking about Jesus and about what he's done during and after the last supper. We remember him and what he'd done, just like he'd ordered his disciples."

"That's pretty cool." He said, still thinking. "Can we come next time, too? Don't take me wrong, sir, I'm not interested in the free food, if I'm hungry I can eat at home, but I think it's a great gesture."

"You can come whenever you want." Cameron said, and he smiled at the invitation. "Never mind if we're celebrating the last supper or if we have a _'normal service'_."

"Dunno." He said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't think that mom would be too happy 'bout it."

"You are Penelope Cleveland's son, aren't you?" Mr. Chandler asked and he lowered his head to one side.

"Sure." He answered.

"Well, knowing your mother, she'll allow you – just ask her. And maybe she'll come, too."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Damien Cleveland**

 _'Whatever the question – the answer is God'_

He'd been to the bathroom, and then he'd been wandering the church and the grounds, when Mr. Chandler and his brother had started talking about going to church again and about mom coming, too, because he knew that _that_ was just impossible – and that was one of the few differences between Dorian and him. Dorian still didn't see how much mom was missing dad, but he, Damien, he could see it, he could feel it.

Alright – Dorian could feel it, too, he knew, but Dorian was the one still hoping that it would get better one day.

Dorian always was the one hoping, while he was the realistic one.

Listlessly he'd kicked a stone along the way.

It wasn't that he didn't understand Dorian's hope, but at the same time – he just had never before heard Jesus' story so … so … so like today, the way Mr. Chandler had told the story. He'd heard about it in religious education, sure, but he'd never understood the way he'd understood when Mr. Chandler had told it.

He'd asked one of the other children who the guy was, and they'd told him that he was the religious teacher from Hathaway Academy up there, on Whitechapel Mount, at that boarding school for difficult boys, and for criminal boys, and somehow he wished that the guy could be their teacher, too. Mrs. Watson was a nice lady, sure, but whatever she told them, it was just boring and most of the children were sleeping during her lessons anyway.

He'd be able to talk with this guy, and he'd be able telling him 'bout mom and dad, how much she missed him, and how sad she was since dad had died. And how much _he_ missed dad, too – but seeing as it was, he couldn't, as there was no one, because surely he couldn't talk with Mrs. Watson about it, and not with Mrs. Jayden, his class teacher, either.

"I think, everything will work out fine." A small voice had come from his left and turning he'd seen Lily Henson from down Black Willow Lane where he lived, sitting in the bed between the roses and some plants he didn't know what it was.

For a moment he'd wondered why these roses looked so nice and so great and well while most other people – his mom included – had a hard way keeping their roses alive, but then he'd shrugged his shoulders.

"Hi, Lily." He'd said.

Maybe these roses were like Lily, just strange. And he knew that Lily was strange, because she was at his school.

"They just need love, you know." The girl had said, looking up at him from the ground where she had been sitting on the earth. "And those plants are peppermint."

"Huh … 'k …" He'd made, not really sure what to say, but then he'd narrowed his eyes at the girl, noticing that she was just sitting there, without rocking, without fidgeting, without stuttering, and without anything else. He'd never seen the girl so calm. Normally she was tipping the chair, fidgeting around, jumping on her chair, or she was playing with her pens, fidgeting around – always moving, and if she was talking then she was talking so fast that you'd best record it and play the record in slow motion to understand anything the girl was talking about at all – not to mention that she was stuttering to begin with, running away if it got too much … not so when he'd met her in the yard of the church.

"May I sit there, too?" He'd asked, even though he hadn't really know why he'd asked that.

"Sure." The brown haired girl had answered, her green eyes sparkling in the sun, and she'd patted the ground beside her.

Well – and then he'd been sitting there, not really knowing why he'd been sitting there and not really knowing what to do and what to say – because, what did you talk about with a girl that was … just like Lily? Alone the fact that she'd guessed his thoughts. That was just – creepy, really.

"May I ask a question?" He'd asked.

"Whatever the question, the answer is God." The girl had answered and for a moment he'd been about to just get up, because that was just stupid, wasn't it? But then he'd taken a deep breath.

"You're living with your dad and with your older sister, aren't you?" He'd asked, not sure why he'd ask the girl in the first place. "Your mom died, didn't she?"

"She did." Lily Henson had answered. Of course he'd known, everyone knew that the old Leonard Henson was raising his two daughters alone, even though Ann-Kathrin Henson was already fourteen or fifteen or something like that. But Lily – Elizabeth – Henson was about ten or eleven years old, he guessed. She'd be in sixth grade after the summer holidays.

"So …" He'd started anew. "What is it like?" He then had asked – again, a stupid question, really. He knew exactly what it was like.

"It's the same like you and your dad who died." The girl had shrugged. "Just that I have God and you haven't."

"How would you know that I haven't God?" He'd asked, not sure if he should feel offended or not.

"Dunno." The girl had shrugged her shoulders. "I can just see it."

"What do you mean with – you can just see it?" He'd asked, not understanding. "How can you see if someone believes in God or not?"

"It's not a matter of believing in God or not." The girl had shaken her head. "There are a lot of people believing in God but not having God in their hearts. You need to love Him, and you need to talk with Him, tell Him everything and listen to what He tells you. You need to have a relationship with God – otherwise you don't have God in your life."

"What do I do to have that?" He'd asked, not sure if he understood the girl's words.

"Dunno." The girl had again shrugged her shoulders. "You just start talking with Him. Go and tell God everything. Talk with him about your dad and about how much you miss him, and that your mom misses your dad too, and how sad she is. And God will listen to you, and He'll help you. He'll tell you what to do and you just have to listen to Him, and to do what He says, and to thank him. Just talk to God the way you'd talk to your mom or your dad."

"But how do I start?" He'd asked, nearly desperate. "With _'dear God'_ or something like that? I don't know any kind of prayer except those we learned in religious education and they're just stupid."

"Sure, you could start with _'dear God'_." Lily had answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Or you start with _'hi God'_. I always start with _'hi dad'_ , or with _'mornin' Lord'_ or with whatever comes to my mind. It doesn't matter, really, as long as you have your heart in it. You know, God doesn't matter either what you call him, because he's looking into your heart anyway. He knows if you're telling the truth just like your mom surely always knows the truth."

"Why aren't you nervous like you normally are?" He'd asked, regretting the question the moment it had left his tongue, but Lily Henson had only smiled.

"'Cause I'm home." The girl had just said, shrugging her shoulders again and he'd realized that she'd been relaxed and at peace like never before – because she'd been at home. This church was her home, this flowerbed, and these people here were her family … she'd been at home.

Taking a deep breath he'd allowed the smell of the plants to calm him. He'd been sure that it hadn't been the roses he'd smelled, and not the peppermint either.

It had been something else, maybe the strange plants that grew between the roses and peppermint – but whatever it had been … well, he'd liked it … and he'd liked it a lot.

And he liked the thought of talking to God, too – but he wouldn't do it here. He'd sneak out after it got dark and he'd go to the small hut behind their house. And there he'd sit on the stump and he'd try talking to him, and maybe he'd even get an answer.

 _'Whatever the question – the answer is God'_

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter six: … conversations, tea-time, and surprise lunch …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	6. shadows and light

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"But how do I start?" He'd asked, nearly desperate. "With 'dear God' or something like that? I don't know any kind of prayer except those we learned in religious education and they're just stupid."_

 _"Sure, you could start with 'dear God'." Lily had answered, shrugging her shoulders. "Or you start with 'hi God'. I always start with 'hi dad', or with 'mornin' Lord' or with whatever comes to my mind. It doesn't matter, really, as long as you have your heart in it. You know, God doesn't matter either what you call him, because he's looking into your heart anyway. He knows if you're telling the truth just like your mom surely always knows the truth."_

 _"Why aren't you nervous like you normally are?" He'd asked, regretting the question the moment it had left his tongue, but Lily Henson had only smiled._

 _"'Cause I'm home." The girl had just said, shrugging her shoulders again and he'd realized that she'd been relaxed and at peace like never before – because she'd been at home. This church was her home, this flowerbed, and these people here were her family … she'd been at home._

 _Taking a deep breath he'd allowed the smell of the plants to calm him. He'd been sure that it hadn't been the roses he'd smelled, and not the peppermint either._

 _It had been something else, maybe the strange plants that grew between the roses and peppermint – but whatever it had been … well, he'd liked it … and he'd liked it a lot._

 _And he liked the thought of talking to God, too – but he wouldn't do it here. He'd sneak out after it got dark and he'd go to the small hut behind their house. And there he'd sit on the stump and he'd try talking to him, and maybe he'd even get an answer._

 _'Whatever the question – the answer is God'_

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter six – shadows and light**

 **Or – halfway through the story …**

 **July 17th 1939, Monday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Margaret Hollister nee Watson**

Watching her cousins Violet and Rose, Margaret shook her head, huffing, when they talked with the hotel concierge, laughing at a joke the young man had made, just when Lavender, the last of the Montgomery girls, entered the hotel. Today they'd finally start travelling the world, something she'd been looking forwards to for years now.

Rose and Violet were doing it each and every year, for centuries now, but this year Lavender would accompany them, and she'd agreed on coming, too, together with her sister Dahlia – and yes, both their mothers, who'd been sisters, too, had given their girls flower names and she didn't like it one bit. It was just plain stupid – and not funny at all. Heather Montgomery nee Henson had been the mother of Violet and Rose, while Petunia Watson nee Henson had been Lavender's, Dahlia's and hers. Stupid, in her humble opinion, and often they'd been teased at school when they'd been young girls, being called the _'flower-girlies'_ , but well, meanwhile they'd gotten used to it and people didn't care anymore. They'd outgrown the stupid need of calling them names.

"Aren't they ready yet?" Lavender asked, approaching them. "One should think that they had enough time to philander with the concierge."

"After only one week of living in the hotel?" She asked, laughing. "They should have married several years ago then they wouldn't have need philandering with him in the first place."

"Young Bobby is a nice guy, after all." Dahlia said, sitting down at the armchair next to her. "He'll get you anything you want, the best cards for cinema, theatre, opera or a table in the best restaurants."

"In other words – a table in Charley's restaurant." Margaret huffed, because there was only one restaurant in New Heaven's Valley.

"Well, that's better than nothing." Lavender rolled her eyes. "The taxis are waiting."

"Tell your sisters." She answered, pointing at the two. "They'd never had a husband or they'd know how to hurry up."

"They'd never had a husband or Rose wouldn't be playing with dangerous chemicals which had caused that accident that had kept her in hospital in the first place, and we could have left last week already." Dahlia growled.

"Don't fret, Dahlia." Violet said, coming over to their table. "Had we left on July 9th, we wouldn't have a substitution for Tuesday and Thursday morning tea at church, but now we have as Sarah Jayden and Ellie are taking over, seeing that holidays had started."

"Admit it, Rose has caused the accident to delay our journey." Dahlia said.

"No, but if God wants his church running then he has it running one way or another." Violet shook her head.

"You and your God, really." She rolled her eyes. "So he rather causes an accident and endangers the lives of his followers."

"We don't know God's ways." Violet answered. "And he hasn't endangered Rose's life, just by the way. He has just delayed our journey for a few days until Sarah and Ellie had time to overtake our duties."

"Being a church-goer, you shouldn't be philandering with the concierge anyway." Dahlia snickered.

"We haven't been philandering, we've just made sure that we'll have extra champagne on the airplane." Violet huffed. "Young Bobby has just called the airport in Indianapolis."

"I'd like reaching London while being sober." She said.

"You'll be able to bear some champagne, won't you?" Rose laughed. "After all, it's the first time that we're all travelling together and we need to celebrate that – and it's only three bottles of champagne young Bobby has ordered. I'll pay for them, so don't you worry. Just keep looking forwards to Shakespeare's Hamlet. _'What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a God! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!'_ "

Well, she'd always known that her cousins had lost some marbles and definitely had a problem with alcohol, too. On the other hand, when her own mother had died, they'd found several bottles of egg-liquor on the bottom shelf in her closet.

The concierge was bringing their luggage outside and closing her eyes she took a deep breath, knowing that it could indeed become a very strenuous trip – or a very funny one.

Of course she knew that her sisters were no alcoholics, but sometimes it was easier to believe in their alcoholism than in their stupidity, in their idiocy and in their believing in something like God. One had just to take their mother – every day she'd been praying, but her life hadn't been easy with a father that had always caused arguments. She'd been praying day for day, but anyway she'd become ill and had then died, and shortly after that her husband, their father, had died, too.

And even though her mother had been praying to God, she'd anyway been an alcoholic, even though they hadn't learned of it until after her death, when they'd broke up the household and found the bottles of liquor in their mother's closet. Well – and never mind how much she'd been praying, she'd anyway had a hard life, caring for not only the household but her girls too, for her husband and for her job – added to the work she'd had to do in her church.

And where had those church goers been? And the preachers? Had any of them helped her mother? No! No one's been there, and no one had helped. They'd just always asked of her! Bunch of – of whatever! A sect it was in her opinion! And now Rose and Violet were in this sect, too, being played on, being used, and being taken advantage of.

Just look at them! They kept the house of that preacher clean while he was taking care of little snots up there at Whitechapel Mount, cleaning his house from roof to the basement, caring for his garden even, and for his grounds, doing all the hard work and they even cooked for him and bought food to fill the pantry for his holidays – and then they had to life in the hotel, paying a lot of money when Rose had an accident and they couldn't leave for holidays in time – which they had to build around that man's holidays anyway. They couldn't just go whenever they liked, they had to go during his holidays because he wanted the entire house for himself, and because during the year he expected the two elderly women to slave away in his house.

And then that school!

Sure, Violet was the deputy headmistress of New Heaven's High, but she was only the deputy! Not to mention that she had to care for all those Christian little monsters that were spoilt rotten, surely getting anything they asked for except for a good beating once in a while! Because those soft Christians surely were unable to give a small, little slap to their little horrors.

No! Again it was the church!

Always it was the church!

That was the reason as to why she'd left New Heaven's Valley – but that her sisters were so stupid and followed their mother's example, that was what unnerved her the most. They knew it, and they should know better than that! But no, they even defended their church and always tried to tell her how great that church was – bullshit!

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty**

"Thanks for today, Lord." Gwyneth said, while placing the last vase with flowers on the table. "Y'know, it's always nice to have a new day with you, but somehow I have the feeling that today you'll do something special. Just, don't have Bradyn doing something stupid. He's up to something, you know? And Conner, too. Those two boys are planning some mischief. I've barely seen Bradyn since holidays started and Kayleigh said the same 'bout Conner. I'm sure they're planning to climb Little Bear's Peak again. I know, I know, Bradyn had climbed up there last year, too, and you've brought him back down safely, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't worry. I'm his mother, after all, and it's my place to worry 'bout him, isn't it, Lord? Ah, well – you'll know best, anyway."

She went back to the kitchen to fetch milk and sugar which she placed at the table by the wall, where she had the coffee maker, too.

"And while you're at it, maybe you could get a friend for Angus?" She then continued. "Nothing 'gainst Gabe whom you've sent, but Gabe is an adult and Angus needs a friend his age whom he can play with, really. Oh, good morning Beatrice." She said, smiling when the old lady came in, carrying a big bag from the grocery, and she went over to help her with the bag and seating her at one of the tables.

"Good morning, Gwyneth." Lady Beatrice smiled. "Having a nice chat with our Lord?"

"I've just asked him to look over Bradyn and Conner." Gwynneth answered. "They're up to something."

"We've never had children." Beatrice mused. "But I guess a mother knows in her heart. Bradyn had the two Cleveland boys accompanying him to church yesterday. I've seen Cameron talking to them during supper."

"He's been asking them to come several times now but they'd always declined." She nodded her head. "Bradyn was happy to have them coming yesterday."

"Hmmm, they're good boys, Bradyn and Conner, and God will watch over them, don't worry, my dear." Beatrice smiled at her and she couldn't help agreeing. "Now, please, tell me you've made Coffee and not just tea."

"I _have_ made coffee." The younger woman smiled and went over to the table with the coffee maker. She poured two cups and brought them over to the table, sitting beside Beatrice.

"Thank you, dear." Beatrice said, smiling. "I haven't disturbed your talk with the Lord?" The old lady then asked, and laughing she shook her head.

"No, Beatrice." She said. "Irrespective of the little fact that – what would God say if I told you off – I'm sure he wouldn't want that."

"That's true." Beatrice Cornwall smiled. "Well, it will be cauliflower, roasted potatoes and steaks today." The woman then said, pointing at the shopping bag she'd been carrying earlier, before taking the cup of coffee with a smile. "And for desert I'll bake an apple pie."

"That's not fair, Beatrice." Gwyneth laughed. "Your apple pie is the best in all New Heaven's Valley."

"You could come for lunch." Beatrice said, and she knew that the old lady meant it. The Earl and the Lady never said something they didn't mean. They rather would say nothing at all than saying something they didn't mean.

"I'd like to, really, but imagine what Morgan and the children would say – even though I'm sure that Bradyn would be very happy. He'd rather eat nothing than the strange mix I sometimes serve."

"You have still some of those cans left?" Beatrice asked, watching her wide eyed.

"I've had a full pantry, after all." She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Really, I haven't known that I had so many cans. You don't really realize it until you have to get rid of them."

"It's like with what you've planted." The older lady laughed. "You're planting so many seeds in your garden and still you consider your garden too small, the seeds are growing into plants, the plants growing bigger and bearing fruit, and upon harvesting you realize that you have so many zucchinis, that your family can't stand them any longer, never mind in whatever form you've cooked them."

"That's true." She laughed. "My husband made me promising that I wouldn't grow zucchini this year. By the way – you won't know how that small little lavender plant has gotten between the roses and peppermint?"

"Lavender?" Beatrice asked, blinking. "No, we've never had lavender, and surely not between the roses and peppermint. There wouldn't be enough space for lavender."

"There is, and it's some lavender, not just a few stipes." She said, furrowing her brows, thinking – because, now that Beatrice has mentioned it, it was true, there wasn't much space between the roses and peppermint as they were sitting close to each other. There wasn't any space between the two plants – but the lavender was there, she'd seen the stipes.

Well, she'd take a look later, after Sarah and Ellie had come to overtake.

"Good morning." Came a soft and rather unsure voice from the doorway and turning Gwyneth recognized Penelope.

"Good morning, Penelope." She said, smiling. "It's nice to see you. Why don't you join us for a cup of coffee – or would you prefer tea?"

"Uhm – coffee would be ok." The other woman answered after she'd taken a look at Beatrice's and her coffee as if to make sure that there was already coffee made and they wouldn't have to cook coffee first.

"Please, take a seat, my dear." Beatrice said, smiling happily, patting the backrest of the chair beside her.

"Thank you." Penelope said, sighing and allowing herself to sit into the chair beside the older lady, and it was clear that she felt awkward. "The summer holidays have just begun, and already I'm so tired and unnerved."

"You're teaching at New Heaven's high, my dear." Lady Beatrice said just when she brought the other woman's cup of coffee to the table. "You should be used to little children and annoying teenagers."

"That's different." Penelope said, shaking her head. "School-time and lessons cause an entirely different student-teacher relationship, but having Dorian and Damian at home during the summer holidays when they're bored, that's two months of horror."

"I'm glad that it's the holidays finally." Gwyneth smiled, happily, and sat back down at her table again. "Finally I have two month of peace – no trouble with the teachers, no trouble with other children, no trouble with homework, and no trouble with anything else school-related."

"Trouble with teachers?" Penelope said, frowning. "My boys are really more than two handfuls, but the teachers here in New Heaven's Valley are very competent and patient teachers. They're doing their best and they love their job and the children they teach."

"Generally speaking, yes." She said. "But Angus' class-teacher isn't from New Heaven's Valley. He's from Whitechapel Mount City – and he has no understanding concerning anything."

"Meredith." Penelope sighed, and that meant something as she would know – after all, she was a colleague of that man. "My twins have troubles with him, too, don't worry."

"And now imagine how it was before we knew that Angus isn't mentally retarded but highly intelligent." She said. "We've had so many troubles with that boy in school, especially with Meredith Morson, his math teacher who'd tried to teach them the basics while Angus had – apparently – not understood anything. It's been Gabe Heavensville who'd realized that Angus isn't mentally retarded."

 **Flashback**

 _"Wanna have a ride, my boy?" Mr. Heavensville asked, approaching Angus who stood beside the man's bike._

 _"Definitely not." She said, quickly intervening before the boy could give an affirmative nod. "He's too small for that – and the boy's disabled anyway – and causes too much trouble to begin with. I don't need him causing even more trouble now."_

 _"Alright." The man simply said, not discussing with her even though she'd been sure that there would come a 'that doesn't matter' or a 'he could come anyway' or something like that – just the gaze the man cast at her was strange, somehow, the man's eyes narrowed in thought, as if he considered her words. But well, she had to admit that her words had been overly harsh – but only because she'd had so many troubles with the boy and anything he started, touched or even looked at, she just didn't want any more trouble._

 _She didn't really know why she'd said that anyway – it wasn't that she generally would call her son disabled or retarded, and surely not in the presence of someone who was a stranger, even though the man was part of her church now. But at the moment she had so many troubles with Angus, that somehow she didn't know what to think anymore._

 _The boy had started school just a few weeks ago and each and every day the boy's class-teacher was calling her because of one thing or another which the boy had done – things that were so idiotic, things like his homework being done the wrong way, never mind if the outcome had been correct or not, things like the boy not socialising with the children in his class, things like Angus daring to give contradiction to his teacher, or to play or draw during lessons. She was so tired of those calls – not to mention that she couldn't have the child going to school – or home – by himself, she had to pick the boy up respectively bring him._

 _However, she had a lot of trouble because of the boy being far behind the other children his age, and that guy asking if he'd like to have a ride, no, that simply was a no-go. Just alone the thought of what could happen if the boy moved on the bike when seeing a squirrel climbing up a tree, or if he didn't have a hold because of something else he was seeing, was horror for her – and Angus was always seeing one thing or another that kept him from doing what he should be doing. That boy had the concentrativeness of – oh look, there's a squirrel up there on the tree …_

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 _"Have a moment, Gwyneth?" Someone asked, and turning she stood before one Gabe Heavensville._

 _"Of course." She said, her heart pounding furiously. So far she'd had Angus in the children's service and now Gabe Heavensville had just taken the group over, it's been his very first morning with the children, and she knew that there'd just been some troubles, again, just like at school. She'd had the children's group herself until now, but since this week they'd opened a kindergarten-group, and she'd overtaken them. On one hand she'd been happy about it, working with the younger children, but on the other hand she'd been worried, would it leave Angus having Gabe as his new tutor._

 _And of course the boy had done one thing or another – or had not done one thing or another – what had caused Gabe to have a talk with her about her son, just like Angus' teacher._

 _"What has Angus done now?" She asked the moment they were sitting in a somewhat more private corner. "I know that he's different, Mr. Heavensville, and I know that it isn't easy handling him, but …"_

 _"Stop worrying, Gwyneth." The man said. "And it's Gabe – there's no reason to call me Mr. or something else."_

 _"Alright – Gabe." She said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "However, Angus is really no bad boy. Whatever he's done, he surely hasn't done it to anger you. He's just …"_

 _"Gwyneth!" The man called out, sharply, and she stopped, blinking at Gabe, not understanding what she'd done wrong this time. "There is no reason to worry, none at all, Angus has done nothing – and neither have you." The new guy added with his eyebrow lifted. "On the contrary – I really can imagine that Angus has troubles at school, but that isn't his fault, but the teachers'."_

 _"I beg your pardon?" She asked, not really understanding. How could this guy say such a thing after just having had the boy in children's service for an hour? And how could it be the teachers' fault anyway?_

 _"Did you know that your son is able solving trigonometric problems and figuring out the musical notes to 'amazing grace' just after hearing the song for the first time – simultaneously?" Gabe said, and she frowned. "The mathematic problem he's solving in his mind only, without a mistake - while the musical problem he's solving on paper – upon just one attempt and again, without a single mistake. And I would know, because I know the notes and the chords to this song, and I've rechecked the answer to the trigonometric problem_ _ _– not to mention the little fact that he has listened to the subject we've been dicussing in children's service today, too_."_

 _"Angus?" She asked, totally perplexed. "Solving – I'm really sorry and I really won't doubt your knowledge concerning children, but Angus surely wouldn't – he can't even solve simple take-always."_

 _"He can." The guy said. "It's just too easy for him and so he's seeing no reason in doing so, not to mention that a child with a high IQ in most cases have a low EQ what causes them to give answers their teachers don't really are satisfied with."_

 _"Are you really sure?" She asked, barely able to believe the man's words in the first place._

 _"I am." Gabe Heavensville answered, seriously. "If you so wish, I can show you his notes and mine when I have rechecked the trigonometric problem."_

 _"But … but what do I do now?" She asked, feeling absolutely out of place and shocked._

 _"Just give him extra tasks he can solve during his lessons so that he won't be bored." Gabe answered, shrugging his shoulders. "That's the best you can do, I guess, and talk to his teachers. Don't be scared of them, because they're no better than you are and they have no right in looking down to you."_

 _"I guess it's too late for that." She sighed, because she knew that no teacher would listen to her anymore._

 _"Maybe it will help if we're visiting Angus' school together." Gabe Heavensville said, and she looked at him, her mouth hanging open._

 _"You'd do that?" She asked, unbelieving._

 _"Sure I would." The man answered, furrowing his brows._

 **End flashback**

Well, that's been that.

It had taken her some time until she'd really understood the meaning of Gabe's words, but it had gotten better – except for math lessons with Meredith.

The other teachers soon had learned to handle Angus differently and after several appointments – some of them together with Gabe Heavensville – the teachers had looked up added – and much more difficult – problems for Angus to solve, which had helped immensely. Not to mention that she'd started making sure to always telling Angus that he's alright the way he was.

"I remember that." Beatrice said, thinking. "Since that day Gabe has taken it as a personal task, caring for your boy and making sure that he was alright, considering his future, too."

"I guess he'll do that in fifty years, still." She laughed. "It had taken some time until we knew what to do and how to handle him and his entire environment, but now …"

For a moment there was ice running down her backbones – not ice-water, but pure ice, making her shivering in the warm, nearly hot sun that shone through the windows.

"Gwyneth, dear?" Beatrice asked, and blinking she got a grip at herself, looking over at the older lady.

"Nothing." She said, shaking her head, but she didn't feel anything like – nothing.

"That didn't look like nothing, Gwyneth." Penelope said, frowning.

"It just felt as if … as if a demon had walked past." She said, taking a deep breath and trying to get that feeling out of his mind.

"A demon?" Penelope asked, looking sceptically. "And here at your church, no less?"

"That's possible, my dear." Beatrice answered. "If you believe in God and his angels, then you also have to believe in Satan and his demons. It's as true as there is black and white and I suggest we just pray over it, because a demon has no room here in this church."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Michael**

"It's been Gabe Heavensville who'd realized that Angus isn't mentally retarded." Gwyneth McFlaherty said, thinking, and he narrowed his eyes – not only because it was true, but because he could feel that there was something else, something foreboding – and something dark.

"I remember it." Lady Beatrice answered, nodding her head. "Since that day Gabe has taken it as a personal task, caring for that boy and making sure that he was alright, considering his future, too."

He too, nodded his head, remembering, because that had been one of the reasons as to why Gabe, as he was called by the people in this small town, had been sent here, to New Heaven's Valley, in the first place. This small valley was a special valley, with very special people, and he knew that Gabriel loved them very much. Yes, Gabriel did have a special mission here – and he had just come to see him, after all, it's been a while.

Slowly he let his eyes wander through the room.

"I guess he'll do that in fifty years, still." Gwyneth laughed, and he, too, chuckled, because he knew that the woman was right – just before there was a strange tingling running down his spine, a tingling he knew, and taking a deep breath he narrowed his eyes, once more looking around, searching, his hand going to the sword he was carrying.

It was a demon he could feel, a demon whose name was unimportant, but like a shadow that demon was able to hide and to strike from one darkness to another, from the darkness that was reality, and from the darkness that was unseen, from the darkness within men's hearts and from the darkness that was in men's minds, in their being, in – everything.

Well, just like any other demon, so it really wasn't anything new.

"It had taken some time until we knew what to do and how to handle him and his entire environment, but now …" There was a shudder running through the woman's body and he knew that she'd felt it, too, and silently he drew his sword, no sound coming from the metal blade that scraped along the sheath and he took a deeper stance, his eyes still narrowed in concentration.

"Gwyneth, dear?" Lady Beatrice asked, and he cast just one short glance at her before he turned, because one small movement of the shadow had been enough, one small movement he'd seen from the corner of his eyes, and he'd known that it was, indeed, this particular demon he'd had in mind.

With one fluid movement he turned and followed the demon, quickly, his blade shining for a split second when the sun hit the polished metal, and elegantly he followed the demon along the corridor and through the door leading to the backyard of the church. Without any efforts he turned his blade when passing the doorway, ready to strike, ready to block a blow should the demon wait on the other side of the doorway, and he didn't even blink an eye the moment steel met his blade, the dark metal of the demon's sword absorbing the sunlight without blazing, darkly, coldly, dangerously – but he didn't care. He knew this one, and he knew that – even though this one was no coward, barely a servant of Satan was cowardly as Satan wouldn't allow that in his ranks – he was no match compared to him, anyway.

Easily he turned the tip of his sword downwards, the dark metal of the demon's sword scraping along the shining metal of his sword when it glided down and then hit the earth, but again the demon stroke and this time Michael allowed the dark blade to slide along his own sword until the metal was caught in his heft before he pushed both, demon and sword off, his bright blade ready for the next strike.

For a moment he remembered one of his captain's earlier question – _'won't you take an escort with you, Lord Michael?'_ – and he growled deep down in his throat. He wasn't an archangel for nothing! And he wasn't the military leader of all of God's angels and troops for nothing either! He was capable of defending himself of a few dirty demons – not to mention one single demon. His blade had been made by the captain of the armourer himself and it was one of the best blades of all of God's army!

And really – a few strikes, metal meeting metal and the sound of steel could be heard, but then the demon turned to flee.

He narrowed his eyes and for a moment he thought looking for the women, his eyes wandering into the direction of where they were sitting – but then he shook his head. Gwyneth McFlaherty had felt the demon, something few people did, and she had come to the correct conclusion, realizing that it indeed had been a demon – while Beatrice Cornwall had reacted immediately, starting a prayer.

So – no, there was no need to linger here. These people were safe and they knew what to do, their belief being strong and deep, and quickly he turned, hasting after the demon. He'd have him soon, in just a moment, and he could feel the women's prayer against the demon wavering in the air.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Cole Benson**

Parking the black and white he stopped the engine and got off the car, throwing close the door, and he went over to the building, thinking of Jean. He'd been to his house this morning after Mr. Harris – not the nicest guy – had been to his office, and he'd taken a deep breath when the man had come in – because he came each and every single day.

Mr. Harris was the owner of the 'Harris' barber's studio' and an always angry man – what was the reason as to why no one went to him, that and the little fact that he was not only much more expensive than Marvin, but because there was always blood flowing. People went to Marvin, and Mr. Harris didn't like it one bit. But well, it was his own fault – would he be just a bit nicer, just a bit more careful, and not quite as expensive, then it would be different, then people would have gone to Mr. 'Harris' barber's studio' and there wouldn't have been need for Marvin to open a barber's shop himself.

"Good morning, Ladies." He said, entering. "Have a coffee?"

"Sure, Cole." Gwyneth said, going over to the table by the wall. "Any news 'bout little Owen?"

"I've been to the hospital before I went to Jean." He said, sitting down and placing the police cap at the table. "And he's not through the woods now. Wohehiv said he's still hovering between life and death – he's nearly killed someone from the hospital administration as they didn't have the antivenom to the snake bit at hand. It had taken them over an hour after they'd arrived at the hospital to get it from Indianapolis emergency. Precious time the boy didn't have – I've never seen Wohehiv so angry, really. He's been cursing in his mother tongue. I couldn't understand what exactly it was about, but it didn't sound nice."

"Wohehiv?" Gwyneth gasped. "Cursing?" That was some shocking news, really, because that man was never cursing, never mind what.

"I still don't understand how that ranger could allow the kids hunting snakes." Beatrice said and he agreed on that, having had a conversation with the man yesterday afternoon. "Not to mention that I don't see how the hospital didn't have the antivenom to snake venom that is by far the most common snake venom in our region."

"Well, I guess if little Owen dies, then the Whitechapel Mount Hospital will have some troubles at hand." He shook his head, hoping that _that_ wouldn't happen – not because he was fond of the hospital, but because of the boy.

"Jean? McIory? He's that guy living out there near the highway, isn't he?" Gwyneth asked, sighing. He knew that the woman was one of the praying group they'd quickly installed yesterday afternoon, and he also knew that she'd be with the Roberts in the afternoon, sitting with them and trying to be of help.

"He is." He answered, nodding his head. "Dunstan, that new guy with the unspeakable family name has been looking for an apartment and Norman has sent him to Jean."

"McIory is living in a house that has no separate apartment." Lady Beatrice said, frowning, and he knew what the woman was about to think. She was an old – and an old-style – woman that did consider etiquette, regarding the protocol and there was no room in two men living together in one house, never mind the conditions.

"Dunstan is Isaak's age and would rather take the place of Jean's old father than anything else." He huffed.

"He's never been to the church, hasn't he?" Gwyneth asked, thinking.

"He's been at his father's funeral, that's been the only times he's been here." He answered. "I'm trying to get him here for years now, but he just won't come, even though I'm sure that it'd be good for him."

And that it would be, indeed.

Jean was – and he was sure of that – the strangest guy he'd ever met in his life, and even before his father's death he'd been very strange already. He surely wasn't stupid, absolutely not, on the contrary, that man was brilliant … but he'd forget his head if it weren't grown to him.

That guy was able to rescue any car from any path, accident, hillslope, mountain or forest. He could maneuver any truck through any terrain and if he got stuck, then he was able to get the truck out of any situation with his winch, never mind the circumstances, never mind the weather, never mind anything and if need be he rearranged the winch a thousand times until he had the car out of whatever emergency situation without having the people inside the car killed by accident – but he'd forget his ignition key to get there in the first place, had he not always left it in the ignition lock.

Even in really dangerous situations, when a car fell off the cliffs around those mountains here, it was always Jean who was called even before the firetruck or other technical institution as he always regarded things like soil conditions, the angle of slope or weather conditions – added to the state of injury concerning the driver and only God knew what other things – and he'd never lost someone to death who'd survived the impact of the accident in the first place – strange, if you considered Jean's disability handling people generally – he wouldn't even shake hands with someone, not if he could get out of it one way or another, even with taking a step back if necessary, with turning and just walking away if possible or other such things people would consider as uncourtly – what most people did think of Jean anyway, what, on the other hand, Jean didn't really mind. But well, Jean was, generally spoken – well, kind of an emotional pile of shards which he, Cole, over and over again tried to get back together into one piece, and not really successfully so.

In other words – he'd like handing Jean over to God, if only Jean allowed it being handed over.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Hereweald Hrothgar**

Idiot parents!

Really, how could parents be so idiotic and so utterly stupid?

What reason for did they sire and produce children in the first place, if they were unable to actually looking after them and to keeping them safe!

And if things happened, then the parents reacted in the most idiotic way, not even ready to listen to the truth nor acting upon his suggestions, as if he were a simple chemistry teacher instead of the biochemist he was, instead of the Chemistry _Professor_ he was, the _Biology Professor_. His knowledge was by far outwitting the knowledge of most physicians and he did have a medical degree, after all.

 **Flashback**

 _"What do you mean with – if the boy survives?" Mrs. Roberts asked and he sighed in annoyance._

 _"_ _Exposure to neurotoxins can cause dizziness, nausea and difficulty with vision in the best cases, Mrs. Roberts, as well as loss of motor control, paralysis or seizures in most cases." He said, trying to keep his voice as calm and as neutral as possible even though he'd like nothing more than throttling the woman. Had she cared for her offspring before he'd gone off snake-hunting, then the boy would be alright. But knowing that that was neither here nor there, he tried to remain as civil as possible. "The same exposure can however cause strokes, coma and eventual death in the worst cases if the nervous system shuts down. Especially if a neurotoxin inhibits the function of the autonomic nervous system, the body quickly starts to break down because a number of important tasks are not being performed – more so if the antivenom isn't given quickly, and more so if the victim is a child – both being the cases in Owen's situation."_

 _"You've mentioned the nervous system, in other words our son won't be able breathing if you removed the respirator." Mr. Roberts said, calmly._

 _"Exactly." He said. "It will be expensive and it surely is difficult keeping the boy depended on the respirator, but that will be his only chances of survival in the first place. I would not give up so quickly if it were my son, just because some idiot doctors are unable thinking beyond their limits and act upon restrictions they'd falsely learned at college and university."_

 _"Is it even possible?" Mrs. Roberts asked, placing her hand upon her husband's arm to stop him from – most likely – giving him a sharp answer to his hidden insult, and he knew that the man had heard the insult._

 _"Of course it is." He huffed – had the woman not listened to him just a moment ago? "It will be difficult using the respirator as a long-time device as originally it isn't designed for that, but of course it is possible."_

 _"Then we'll do just that." Mr. Roberts said. "Never mind the costs."_

 **End flashback**

Soft sniffing got him out of his rather unpleasant memories and frowning he turned towards the sound, seeing a young boy sitting at the armchair in the hall and he went over to the little imp.

"What's your name, young man?" He asked the boy.

"Timmy … Timmy Sanchez." The boy sniffed and he frowned, forcing that name through his brain cells – and then he nodded.

Timmy Sanchez, the boy who'd been snake hunting with Owen Roberts.

But really – how old was that idiot boy here? Nine years old? Maybe ten years old? But surely he wasn't older than that!

Well, of course the boy would sit here, crying, upon his friend being close to death after being bitten by a snake, the Sanchez boy most likely blaming himself for being too slow in getting help, for losing his way while getting help, for going snake-hunting in the first place or for whatever other things he could be blaming himself of in the first place – added to the fear of his friend dying and added to the fear about what would come next, how his parents would react, how his friend's parents would react, how their friends would react, teachers, family – yes, the idiot boy had worked himself into a real state.

"And your problem is –?" He asked, even though he knew the boy's problem very well.

"Well …" The boy started, sniffing, running his sleeve over his face and smearing tears and snot all over his sleeve. "I … I've been out on the hillslopes of Devil's Peak … together … together with O-Owen … *sniff* … y'know … we've been snake hunting … 'cause … 'cause the other boys doing that, too … *sniff* … and … and then Owen's been bitten … it's … it's been a rattlesnake … and … *sniff* … and they say he got the antivenom too late and … and now he'll die … *sniff* … and … and it'll be my … *sniff* … my fault …"

"Has it been your idea to go snake-hunting, boy?" He asked, furrowing his brows at the idiot – and sniffing – child, grimacing at the goo sticking to the boy's sleeve.

"No …" The boy sniffed again. "It's … it's been Owen who's asked me … 'cause … 'cause we'd get money for it …"

"Hmm …" He made. "And who of you two is the older one?" He then asked.

"O-Owen is …" The boy sniffed. "He … he's eleven and I … I'm nine …"

"I see." He said. "Then care telling me as to why any of this might be your fault?" He asked.

"'cause … 'cause I could've said no …" The boy sniffed, again running his sleeve over his tear stained face.

"Sure, you could." He said. "Any explanation as to what reason for you should have said no to a recommendation your older friend has made to pass some time and earn money at the same time?"

"What's … what's a re- a recommation?" The boy asked, looking up at him with large eyes.

"A recommendation." He corrected, forcing himself to not giving away a suffering sigh and a biting remark. "Is a proposal, a suggestion." He then explained.

"Oh … dunno, sir …" The boy then said, and he shuddered at the word 'dunno' the boy used.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

Leaning against the wall, he nearly chuckled at the concealed exasperation and annoyance Hereweald was barely able to suppress when talking with little Timmy.

He'd called the boy's uncle over an hour ago, telling him that the boy was here and that he best picked him up from the hospital, but the man hadn't come yet, and he sighed, knowing that most likely Sanchez was back to sleep, sleeping off the last remnants of the alcohol he'd drunk last night – and the night before.

Little Timmy had been here all Saturday, and he'd come back here yesterday afternoon, too, until his uncle had picked him up a few hours later. And today he'd been back with the first bus coming over from New Heaven's Valley, at eight o'clock, and since that time he'd been sitting here again, waiting.

"I suggest you accompany me to the canteen for lunch." He heard Hereweald saying.

"'m no hungry …" The boy sniffed, miserably, running his sleeve over his nose and Hereweald grimaced at the gesture.

"I'm not making a suggestion but giving an order." He heard the man hissing at the – clearly startled – boy. "I won't have you dropping due to lack of food, just because I have neglected taking care of your physical needs and therefore being responsible for your health being at risk – and now move, boy."

And shaking his head he watched the man ushering the boy downstairs and towards the canteen.

Of course he could have intervened, saving the boy from Hereweald's harsh treatment, but not only did he know that the boy was in the best hands if he was with Hereweald, but also did he know that Hereweald would not only be taking care of the boy's physical needs but of his mental needs, too, making him seeing reason one way or another. The grumpy Professor always managed.

Really!

Hereweald Hrothgar was the most grumpy teacher – and Professor – he'd ever seen, always claiming that … _'the little bothers'_ , or _'the little horrors'_ , _'the little snots'_ would be his early death. But at the same time he'd barely seen anyone being able handling the really difficult children – most likely because he was used to handling those difficult children due to the little fact that he was the house teacher at a boarding school for difficult boys up there at Whitechapel Mount, even though he knew that those difficult children were difficult due to an entirely different reason, that they were difficult due to their upbringing while the children here at the Whitechapel Mount Hospital were difficult due to accidents or illnesses they – or their family members – were suffering from.

With a huff he pushed himself off the wall and then followed the two to the canteen. It was noon and he, too, was hungry.

"I suggest you go on choosing something to eat, boy." He heard Hereweald's order upon approaching the two.

"But … but I've no more money …" The boy sniffed. "The bus ride was fifteen cent, and …"

"I did not ask if you had any money left, boy." Hereweald Hrothgar growled. "But to choose something to eat – or I'll do that for you irrespective of your tastes."

"The hash browns are great." He said, approaching the two from behind and having Hereweald turning, glaring at him in annoyance. Of course he knew that he'd wanted the boy choosing his food himself, not only to get him off the subject, but because – well, Hereweald just was like that.

"Are you alright if I join the two of you?" He asked, grinning.

"Only if you keep out of this, Indian." Hereweald growled, and he chuckled.

Maybe he would feel offended upon being addressed as _"Indian"_ if it were someone else than Hereweald, but not only was he considering the man as a friend, but also he knew how the grumpy man meant it, and he knew that Hereweald Hrothgar was no man making a difference in skin colour, in lineage, in language, belief or in any other difference between people – no, that man just was like that, that was all.

"Of course, Northman." He laughed, knowing that he could drive Hereweald up the wall with that as he didn't easily admit his own ancestry. "I'd never do such a thing as partaking in a discussion you're holding with a young gentleman such as this here."

"As if." The Professor huffed and then led the boy to an empty table in a corner, making him sitting down with a "sit" before placing the tablet with hash browns and grilled fish before the boy.

There were several moments of silence, Hereweald grumpily eating his own hash browns while watching the boy shoving his food from one spot of his plate to another without actually eating.

"I suggest you start eating, boy." The man growled at one point or another.

"'m not hungry." The boy repeated his words from earlier, but at least he'd calmed down somewhat and the sniffing was gone.

"I didn't ask if you were hungry, boy." Hereweald said, and Wohehiv shook his head.

There was some more food pushed from one spot of the boy's plate to the other, until the Professor leaned back in his chair, placing his fork at his plate.

"Very well." The man then sighed. "Since I guess that you won't be starting to see reason anytime soon, I guess we'll have to solve the problem so that finally you can go back to being a normal and annoying little bother."

Well – he doubted that the problem would be solved so easily, but leaning back in his own chair and crossing his arms over his chest, expectantly, the Cheyenne lifted his eyebrow, curiously.

"Now – you are blaming yourself for Mr. Roberts having been bitten by a rattlesnake." The man started, and with large eyes the boy nodded his head at him. "Well – as I guess that you won't listen to any point I might bring up, I suggest you start writing an essay – about timber rattlesnakes, their general species, their habitation, their behaviour and their venom. I also expect you to add in your thesis about why hikers should be careful when passing or climbing fallen logs or boulders – and what to do encase of a snake bit. I'll allow you into the hospital's library – mind however, that you can only read those books I recommend to you. And last but not least – I expect you to write about snake hunters, and about the responsibility of rangers – and no, I don't care about the boy laying his blame on the ranger if that does the trick, Indian, as long as he stops blaming himself in the first place, not to mention about the little fact that the blame is to be placed exactly there anyway. Now – I suggest you eat, boy, so that you can go to work and do some researches in the library."

Well, it seemed to work, because the boy actually stopped his pushing food around on his plate and started shoving the hash browns into his mouth instead.

He didn't know if he was happy with the man's remedy, but he had to admit that at least for now it had worked – how it would work in the long run, he didn't know, but he trusted Hereweald's common sense and good judgement, the man had always got the children to see whys and wherefores, after all, one of the reasons as to why he liked working together with him here in the children's ward, despite the man's general dislike of children.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty**

Gwyneth wasn't really surprised when Bradyn wasn't at home for lunch.

At the beginning she'd thought that maybe the boy would visit her brother's house for lunch, seeing that at Kayleigh's house people did know what it would be for lunch whereas here it was a surprise meal – still.

Today it was caned, white beans with potatoes – Bryan would have liked that, but as he wasn't here, well – but that wasn't the point anyway, because Bryan wasn't visiting Conner for lunch. She'd talked with Kayleigh, and so she knew that the two boys were neither here nor there but striving the area all day long – most likely the area around Little Bear's Peak.

Laying the table she shook her head, because even though she didn't really like it, she knew that boys were just like that, that they saw a mountain but when seeing it they didn't see the beauty of the vegetation or the birds having their nests in some small caves or corners, but they saw the slopes and hillsides they could climb.

Today he'd talk with the boy when he came home, asking about his plans for the holidays, and then she'd know more, because she knew, if she asked if he was about to climb Little Bear's Peak again, then he wouldn't lie to her, he'd tell her if he was planning this trip.

Of course she knew that she couldn't forbid it, but at least she'd know about it.

For one fleeting moment she even considered Bradyn and Conner not roaming the outskirts but the small town itself, having done those break ins Cole Benson had spoken about – but then she brushed that thought off, because neither of the two boys would so such a thing. They were too well-raised for such a thing, and suddenly roaming the outskirts and planning a climbing trip up Little Bear's Peak didn't seem so bad anymore – after all, it was the smallest of the mountains around New Heaven's Valley, and after all, it wouldn't be the first time – nor would Bradyn or Conner be the first boys. Every boy was doing that.

Well – she guessed it was a good thing then that Meghan was a girl and surely would not climb up any mountain, and that Angus had entirely other interests than boys had in general. Angus was reading a lot and he was playing with his knights and dragons, he was having his adventures in his mind, not in real.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Conner** **Uí Ceallaigh  
**

"You've heard about Owen?" Bradyn asked and he nodded his head. Of course he had, New Heaven's Valley had nearly no other subject to talk about – aside from the heat, of course, and the breake ins – which were rather strange anyway, he couldn't help thinking.

"Sure I have." He said. "And that's the reason as to why we should start climbing Mount Eagle tomorrow."

"How so?" Bradyn frowned at him.

"Because Wohehiv is in hospital." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Guess he is." Bradyn agreed. "Mom said Owen's in a coma or something like that."

"Dunno." He sighed, leaning back against a tree. "But I know that it looks rather bad, and so far the Indian has left early in the morning to come back home late in the evening."

"Would it be a bad thing if we hoped that Owen remained in that coma for just a bit longer so that we could do this climbing trip in peace?" Bradyn asked and he chuckled at the other boy.

"Guess it would." He said. "Dunno, but I'd rather not climb up there if it meant that something had to happen to Owen. I like him, you know?"

"I didn't mean that I wished something would happen to him – just that he's sleeping a bit longer, that's all." Bradyn said.

"Sure, but I don't know if that could be a bad thing anyway, 'cause if you stay in a coma for too long, then you could die." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure?" Bradyn asked.

"Dunno." He said. "But I guess. Maybe we should go home?" Conner asked.

"Why?" Bradyn looked over at the younger boy. "Scared?"

"No." He huffed at his older cousin, glaring at him in his best Irish ways. "But I guess we won't climb up today, it's too late already. And we don't need looking at the Cheyenne's house either, 'cause I don't think that he'll be back anytime soon today. He'll be in hospital all day long, just like yesterday and the day before yesterday."

"Guess you're right." Bradyn admitted. "Maybe we should go to Pop's Soda Shoppe – we haven't been there since the holidays started."

"That's a good idea." Conner grinned. "And I'll have the biggest ice cream ever."

Leaving their things at the clearing, hanging from the trees again, they started climbing down the wooded area of the foot of the mountain, still careful to not being seen – just in case Wohehiv would come home despite their speculations.

"What do you think about those break ins?" Bradyn asked when they went along Butternut Path into the direction of the town.

"Guess it's a student from up there." He said, pointing with his chin towards Whitechapel Mount.

"Why would you think that?" the other boy asked. "Don't they have holidays like we?"

"Guess they have." He shrugged his shoulders. "But think – they have started last summer holidays, and there had only been break ins during the summer holidays. They had stopped the very day school had started again. Then think about what's taken – only small things. What thief would take two or three rolls only, and a few apples or a few other small things? Any good thief would take the cash or the real expensive things – but this one doesn't."

"That's true." Bradyn sighed. "But maybe it's Timmy?"

"Why would it be Timmy?" He asked, not really understanding.

"Well, your theory is good, but I wonder why there would be a student that wouldn't go home during the summer holidays." Bradyn shrugged his shoulders. "While Timmy could have a reason – you know how the old Sanchez is, always drunken and Timmy always went to church before school to get a lunch box from mom and after school he went there to get lunch. Now it's the holidays, and he can't get some food from the church."

"Dunno, if you think like that, then it could be Stinky, too, or Diego." He said, frowning, because he knew that his cousin could be right – and it would be much more plausible than a student having remained at his school during the summer holidays and then stealing from the town's shops instead of going home and enjoying a big swimming pool or other such things. "And in this case it could be Finn Abrahamsen, too, or one of the Sullivan or Jones boys."

"'m not sure." Bradyn shook his head. "You know, they're poor, but I'm sure their parents would give them hell if they were found stealing – but Timmy? Sanchez is always drunk, and he doesn't care about anything Timmy's doing."

"Timmy never did something like that." He said.

"Neither did the others – I guess, we won't find the culprit." Bradyn sighed.

"Maybe we should go and hide near the bakery during the nights?" Conner asked and he looked over at the older boy.

"Dunno." Bradyn shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we could – but first we have to finish what we're planning right now before we start a new project."

"Hello boys." Ceddy smiled when they entered the Pop's Soda Shoppe.

"Hi Mr. Walton." He said, and both boys went over to the counter – Conner to order the biggest ice cream ever, and Bradyn to get a coke with vanilla ice cream.

They'd go climbing tomorrow, and they'd solve their problem with the break ins at another day. For today they'd have a nice afternoon at Pop's Soda Shoppe and later maybe at the church – and if their mothers asked them where they'd been today, what they did all evening since the summer holidays had started, or rather since they'd started planning their climbing tour, they could both answer with a good conscience that they'd been in town.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter seven: … bad temper – and the nephew of an uncle that doesn't exist …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	7. Michael and Gabriel

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"Dunno, if you think like that, then it could be Stinky, too, or Diego." He said, frowning, because he knew that his cousin could be right – and it would be much more plausible than a student having remained at his school during the summer holidays instead of going home and then stealing from the town's shops. "And in this case it could be Finn Abrahamsen, too, or one of the Sullivan or Jones boys."_

 _"'m not sure." Conner shook his head. "You know, they're poor, but I'm sure their parents would give them hell if they were found stealing – but Timmy? Sanchez is always drunk, and he doesn't care about anything Timmy's doing."_

 _"Timmy never did something like that." He said._

 _"Neither did the others – I guess, we won't find the culprit." He said._

 _"Maybe we should go and hide near the bakery during the nights?" Conner asked and he looked over at the younger boy._

 _"Dunno." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we could – but first we have to finish what we're planning right now before we start a new project."_

 _"Hello boys." Ceddy smiled when they entered the Pop's Soda Shoppe._

 _"Hi Mr. Walton." He said, and both boys went over to the counter – Conner to order the biggest ice cream ever, and he to get a coke with vanilla ice cream._

 _They'd go climbing tomorrow, and they'd solve their problem with the break ins at another day. For today they'd have a nice afternoon at Pop's Soda Shoppe and later maybe at the church – and if their mothers asked them where they'd been today, what they did all evening since the summer holidays had started, or rather since they'd started planning their climbing tour, they could both answer with a good conscience that they'd been in town._

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter seven – Michael and Gabriel**

 **Or – money vs cooking books …**

 **July 18th 1939, Tuesday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty**

Chuckling Gwyneth shook her head while stirring the tomato sauce for the spaghetti that would be lunch at church today when the children came – and yes, they still came for lunch, even though it was the holidays.

Well, she'd been to the hospital yesterday evening, after Bradyn had been home – early, she couldn't help adding – to look after Mariah. They were taking turns, Mariah and Mitchell, sitting in that room their son lay in, keeping watch over the boy and trying to trust in God, but she could say that their trust in God was going to waste a little more with each day that passed … especially now that their child's survival alone was causing a financial disaster – and she knew that it was indeed a financial disaster – while recovery wasn't even in reach.

Already Mitchel had been to the bank, asking for a credit – which he'd surely get, because Horace McAlister would never deny the Roberts a credit if their son's life was at risk – but she also knew that they'd be unable to pay the money back, ever.

And then she'd been visiting them yesterday evening – and if God had been not at Whitechapel Mount Hospital back then, then she didn't know what had happened, because the strangest thing ever had happened there. No, Little Roberts wasn't suddenly healed, she would have been able to understand _that_ , because God often did healings … no, it's been even stranger than _that_.

 **Flashback**

 _"That will be no problem, Mrs. Roberts." She heard someone saying the moment she arrived at the children's ward, and she was sure that it was that particular Professor that was working there during the summer holidays only, as only a man as this one she'd heard of could have a voice such as this, cold and – snarky, for the lack of a better word, a voice that was sharp enough to cut through ice. Not that she'd ever met that man, no, but she'd heard enough during one or another conversation between Wohehiv and Cameron. "I have made sure that the respirator will be remaining in your son's room."_

 _He was a biochemist and a teacher from Hathaway. And here the rumours differed. Some said that he had no other home than that school over there and was therefore working at the hospital during the summer holidays, while others said that he was a wealthy man – it wasn't that she was listening to what people were saying, not at all, but_ _ _…_ the rumours surrounding that particular man were so strange, and as she didn't have any other source of information … well, she couldn't help wondering._

 _"I know, Professor." She heard Mariah answering when she turned around the corner and saw the woman together with Wohehiv and a dark looking, cold looking guy standing in the hallway – and honestly, that guy fit perfectly to what she'd heard about 'Hereweald', the only name she knew when it came to that person and she didn't even know if it was his family name or his given name. "My Husband went back to New Heaven's Valley to ask Horace McAlister for a credit. Whatever the sum, we will …"_

 _"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Roberts." That dark and cold man now said, his voice cutting through the children's ward like ice and for a moment she shuddered. She'd never before met that man, but she already knew that they wouldn't become friends. "I have already paid for the treatment."_

 _"Of course you did …" Wohehiv chuckled, as if it were something normal if a professor from hospital paid a small fortune for the treatment of a patient, as if it were something funny instead of something shocking while Mariah didn't get a word out – and nor did she, Gwyneth, because from all he knew about that man, such surely had to be the last thing he would be doing – ever!_

 _Telling Mariah, a mother that was about to lose her son, a mother that was already blaming herself, telling her that she had acted irresponsible in allowing her son on a snake-hunt … yes, that would be like a man like that!_

 _Or telling Mariah, who didn't have much money in the first place, that surely she would have to pay the entire sum – which surely would be horrendous – within the next three days, yes, that would be like a man such as this, too! And she knew that Mariah already had planned through each and every possibility, even the selling of their house, as small and as plain as it was, and that meant something._

 _Well, she could imagine anything when it came to a man like that – who just now turned towards Wohehiv, watching the Cheyenne with piercing, black eyes – anything but telling Mariah that he already had paid for the boy's survival in the first place!_

 _"You know that I have as much interest in money as I have in cooking books." The man said, growled, followed by a "you just keep yourself off my person, woman!" when Mariah stepped close to hug the professor – and didn't listen to him at all._

 _"I know, you're hugging people as if they suffered from the worst case of leprosy or something like that." Wohehiv now actually laughed, and she couldn't help chuckling, too. "But I fear that you'll have to suffer a mother saying thanks in her own way, my dear Hereweald."_

 **End flashback**

Yes, that had been a rather interesting occurrence, she had to admit that – but she also knew how incredibly important it had been for Mariah and her husband.

She'd been sitting with Mariah in the hall, the woman crying all evening, and upon her question if she wouldn't go to sit by her son, the woman had just shook her head, telling her between her tears that surely it wouldn't do any good if the boy heard her crying.

When Mitchell had come to the hospital later, finding his wife crying in the hall, he'd paled considerably, had stormed into the boy's room, as if he'd had to see the boy's death with his own eyes, just to come back with a confused look on his face when finding Owen still alive.

"What – what happened?" He'd asked, shaking his head – of course a man wouldn't understand all the emotions going through a mother if her child was in hospital and close to death! Really! As if a mother wouldn't cry in a situation such as this! But well – Mitchel was a man and what would a man understand of such things. Mariah had told him then, that Professor Hrothgar – and finally she'd known that Hereweald was the man's given name and that his family name was Hrothgar, a name that forced her tongue into a knot while trying to repeat it – had paid the money for the respirator. Not to mention that she'd learned that the rumours of the man being poor and having no home other than that school up there, were wrong, because surely the treatment had cost a small fortune and only a wealthy man could have paid that.

However, for a moment Mitchell had stood there, shocked to the bones, but then he'd left, wordlessly, and most likely to give his own thanks to the professor, but she hadn't witnessed that and when Mitchell had come back, he'd looked less shaken, less burdened, and less anything. That evening they'd been sitting with little Owen, thanking God for the miracle he'd worked in touching that man's heart, Professor Hereweald Hrothgar's heart.

Well, he'd met that man later, when leaving the hospital, and he'd looked brooding and threateningly, his eyes narrowed in pure anger and hatred, as if he had to compensate the good he'd done before

"Hi, Mrs. McFlaherty." The small voice from Caroline Sullivan got her out of her thoughts and she looked over at the girl that was in the company of Finn Abrahamsen.

"Caroline, Finn." She smiled. "You're early. Here, take those plates, please, and lay the table, will you?" She then added, a memory from the evening before coming to her mind.

 **Flashback**

 _"Bradyn?" She asked, unable of keeping her shock hidden. "You're early … hi Conner."_

 _"Why mom?" The boy asked, his brows furrowed, as if trying to understand a mystery._

 _"You haven't been home before curfew since the start of the holidays." She frowned. "And now it's before dinnertime even."_

 _"Well, we're hungry." The boy said, shrugging his shoulders, eyeing the table as if he feared it would be canes for dinner, and she smiled at the sigh of relief when the boy saw the white beans, the sausages and the potatoes on the table._

 _"Go and have a wash." She said, shooing the two boys to the bathroom._

 _Quickly their hands and faces were washed, and just a short moment later they were sitting at the dining table, saying a prayer – even though she could see that the two boys were not really in it, their minds elsewhere and their eyes on the food on the table._

 _"What have you two been doing?" She asked when everyone had taken their fill, cutting the sausages from Angus into small pieces – and ignoring the boy's disgusted look at the sausages. He'd eat it, or he wouldn't, she didn't know. Sometimes he did, even though he didn't like it, and sometimes he didn't and just ignored it. She'd not learned about any kind of patterns, yet, if there even was a pattern to her youngest son's eating habits._

 _"We've been to Pop's Soda Shoppe." Conner said, closing his eyes. "And I've had the biggest ice cream ever."_

 _"And then we've been to the church, meeting with the other boys." Bradyn said. "And Damien and Darien had been there, too. You know, mom, we've been working hard to get them visiting the church!"_

 _Well, she couldn't help smiling at that._

 _So, that had the boys been doing for the past few days, meeting with the Cleveland boys to convince them about visiting church, and suddenly she had a bad conscience for blaming them, even though she'd just blamed them in her mind. She'd have to talk to Kayleigh, telling her that Conner and Bradyn weren't planning something bad, like climbing the mountains – just for example – but that they were really good boys, trying to get their friends to visiting church._

 _Really!_

 _How could she have had such bad thoughts about the children, and then even sharing them with Lady Beatrice, no less!_

 _She'd make it up to the boy, she promised herself._

 **End flashback**

"Of course." The girl said, getting her out of her thoughts, and with a smile the child took the stack of plates she'd already placed on the counter, and carried them to the tables.

Well, they really were early, because it was just noon, and while on a school day the children wouldn't come for lunch before one pm, during the holidays it would be even later than two o'clock as they had one or another work to do at home – in their mother's household, in the gardens, or with their fathers on the fields or similar. She knew that Patrick Jones, the oldest of _'her'_ children she had over for lunch, wouldn't come during the holidays at all, as he was working on the plantations near Whitechapel Mount City to make a bit of money, even though people working there were paid poorly. It was better than nothing, though.

Well, and now, during the holidays, she didn't have more than six children over for lunch at all – but considering the little fact that they were six children from families with little to no money left for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary for the survival of the families, those six children were too many children needing lunch at church anyway.

"That smells nice, Mrs. McFlaherty." Little Elizabeth said, sniffing, and she smiled.

"Thank you, Lily." She answered. "Would you like staying for lunch?" She then offered, even though she knew that Elizabeth Henson wasn't a child from a poor family.

"It's been spaghetti at home, too." The girl said, as if that would be an explanation to – either yes, or no, she didn't know yet. "But yours smell nicer. Dad's cooking is horrible sometimes."

"There's enough for you, too, child." She said, invitingly, knowing that Leonard Henson, as a single father with two daughters wasn't as good a cook as the girl's mother would be and Ann-Kathrin was far from overtaking this role of a mother, the girl – even though the older of the two girls – was far from having passed childhood herself.

Sometimes people from New Heaven's Valley brought a cake, scones, some pastries or other sticky buns like that to the Hensons, making sure that the girls at least sometimes had a cake – or any other kind of desert.

"Hmmm, spaghetti …" Timmy's small voice came, sniffing, Melany Jones coming in behind the smaller boy, and she frowned – they were all early, today, as it seemed! What was wrong with the children in New Heaven's Valley lately?

But then she shrugged her shoulders – if the Lord decided to get the children here early, then he would have his reasons – and if only that reason was because lunch was ready, even though that, too, was early, then be it. She spoke a short prayer, thanking God for his good timing, thankking him for the food and for the chance to sit together to begin with.

"I've missed you yesterday, Timmy." She then said, frowning, not quite remembering how it came that she'd finished cooking early, today – but again she shrugged her shoulders, because again – if the Lord decided that she had to finish her cooking early, then who was she to question his reasons?

"Haven't been hungry." The boy said, scooping spaghetti on his plate, smiling, and she sighed a breath of relief, because she hadn't seen the boy smiling since that day he'd been with Owen when the other boy had been bitten by that snake. "And I've been to the hospital, anyway, had to make sure that Owen's alright."

"There's no need for you to wolf that food down, Timmy." She scolded when the boy started doing just that.

"Is." The boy answered. "The bus's leaving New Heaven's Valley for Whitechapel Mount at half past one, and Mr. Carlyle promised taking me to the hospital for free if I'm at the bus stop early to clean the seats."

"Oh, child." She sighed. "You can't do anything there."

"Have to be with Owen." The boy answered, for a moment looking miserable, again, but then he, too, seemed to shrug his shoulders, even though just mentally. "Besides, there's that scary professor." The boy then added. "And he's made me eating yesterday, and he'd given me an essay to write about snakes and about their habitation, and about their behavior and about their venom, and about why hikers should be careful, and about what to do if people are bitten by a snake – and about snake hunters, and about the responsibility of rangers – and he'd allowed me into the hospital's library, even. It's a library where only the Professors can go in! Imagine! But I've been allowed in there with all those Professors, writing my essay, and they didn't even throw me out! And now I'll go back to hand my essay in, because last night I've been reading over it, several times, even, to make sure that there're no mistakes."

"That's nice of him." She said, frowning, wondering whom the boy could mean as surely he couldn't mean Wohehiv, because Wohehiv was well-known all over the small valley and the boy would have used his name, had it been him.

"I don't know." The boy said, shuddering. "He's been really scary, and he'd been calling me _'boy'_ all the time, sounding really angry and irritated. I'm sure he doesn't like children. But I felt better after he'd told me to write that essay. And then he'd personally taken me to the bus in the evening, making sure that Mr. Carlyle took me home. He'd even threatened him that he'd poison him with a very nasty chemical that would eat him from the insides to the outsides if he wouldn't stop before my house to make sure that I went in, that was scary and funny at the same time."

Well – that did sound like a particular Professor named Hereweald Hrothgar, but why would that man care about little Timmy getting home safely? Because considering what she'd heard, the boy was correct and the Professor didn't like children, something she always had thought strange, if one regarded his job, being a teacher at a boarding school. But well, she guessed that as a teacher, especially as a teacher at a boarding school, he had to take his responsibilities seriously, or he'd have the wrong job.

But really – telling the boy he had to write an essay? The child was in enough shock and misery, and punished with his bad conscience without having to write a damn essay for that idiot teacher.

 _'Sorry, Lord.'_ She thought, sighing, giving a look towards the ceiling and the sky above. _'But true is true!'_

 _'Is the boy really so miserable and in shock still?'_ A small voice in the back of her mind asked, and blinking she couldn't help admitting that – no, the boy, that right now got up with a "have to go, see you later, bye" wasn't miserable at all, and surely the child wasn't in shock either but seemed a child that was in good hopes concerning the survival of his friend.

Well – again, she didn't know what to make out of this, but well – who was she to question the Lord's decisions?

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Caitlyn Uí Domhnalláin**

"I know what you're going to say, Beatrice, and I'm sure that my daughter's agreeing with you, too, and I won't even say that you're wrong, but it just isn't correct and you of all people should know it!" She said, shaking her head. "We're both elders from the olden school – and God needs to be shown respect!"

"I do agree with you on that, my dear Caitlyn." Beatrice said, calmly, and taking a sip of her coffee as if she couldn't understand her. "But do not forget that Jesus has made us free."

"I do not forget _that_ , Beatrice." She said, helplessly shaking her head, because _she_ couldn't understand Beatrice who didn't seem to care one bit about God being shown respect within his own church. "He's made us free concerning our sins, but that doesn't mean we should go ahead and lead in service the way we like, with not just showing our forearms but showing the skin of our entire arms and our naked shoulders even … wearing short trousers and our hair open! Not just without a haircloth but with our hair open, even!"

"Caitlyn," Beatrice sighed. "I know that it is important for you to wear long sleeves and a long skirt that covers your legs – and to tie your hair into a knot during service, I'm doing the same, but just because it is important to you or to me, doesn't mean that it is the only way for all of us. We all have our own things God is telling us, and if God is telling us something, then we should obey that order, but that doesn't mean that it is an order for all of us. God has given this order to you – and to me – but not to Rebecca."

"But holding service and doing the sermon in shorts and a shirt without sleeves, really." She insisted. "I know that the weather is horribly hot, and I also know that surely Rebecca won't be denied the paradise just because of her clothing, I'm not saying that, but not only is it a matter of showing her respect towards God, but also – she's responsible for the children she's teaching and she has to act as their guide and role model. How will they learn anything about showing respect to God if they don't even learn it from their teachers at Sunday school? Not to mention that she, as the wife of a preacher, has to act more considerably than others."

And maybe that it was, what was bothering her the most – Rebecca Mac Guaire was the wife of a pastor, and she couldn't understand how Noah could allow her such, and how Rebecca wouldn't think of such herself.

"You're making differences between the people in church, Caitlyn." Beatrice said, and she couldn't even give contradiction, because she really was doing that, and she sighed. "Take Mitchell, for example. God's told him to not handling money on a Sunday, and so he doesn't. He's giving his offerings during the week, but never on a Sunday while you're saying that's not necessary and while you're giving your offering after service on Sundays like anyone else. Is he to be called a Christian more than you or me?"

"Of course not!" She couldn't help admitting. "But with naked arms, Beatrice! With naked arms!"

"So what? Mitchell just as well could say _'on a Sunday!'_ but he doesn't because he knows that there's a difference of what God's telling him and about what God's telling other people."

"I know that you're right, but I also know that I'm not wrong either, because the bible says that we have to show God our respect with being obedient regarding all of his orders." She said, knowing that of course Beatrice was right. She just didn't know how to make it clear how important it was to her. "And God has told us to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, and with good deeds appropriate for women who profess to worship God."

"Really, Caitlyn." Beatrice sighed. "Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All things indeed are pure, but it is evil for the man who eats with offense – and the same goes for our clothing as well as for anything else. Like you said, you and I, we are elders of the olden school, and we should know best that it is not our place to judge. Rebecca has done nothing wrong in her heart, and that's the only thing God will look at, at her heart."

"That's true – but it's also written that it is good neither to eat meat or drink wine nor do anything by which your brother stumbles or is offended or is made weak." She said. "And that means, that for the sake of her sisters Rebecca should watch her clothing."

"And in verse 22 it's written do you have no faith? Have it to yourself before God. Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves. Really, Beatrice – do we have to recite the bible? We both know what's written in there and we both know how it is meant. I do understand that your dress-code is important to you, but that doesn't go for everyone while there are other things important to other people where you'd say that is unimportant. Do allow Rebecca to teach her children the way she thinks it right and do not judge her."

"I'm not judging her." She sighed. "It just pains me to watch how she's not showing respect to God."

"She _is_ showing respect to God." Beatrice now sighed, too. "She's just doing that in her own way."

"Good afternoon, Ladies." Cole Benson's voice got them out of their discussion, and somehow she had the impression that Beatrice was glad about the disruption – and she, too, she couldn't help admitting, because really, she knew that they both were right, somehow at least, even though she'd like telling Beatrice how important it was to her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Benson." She greeted the sheriff back.

"Hi Cole." Gwyneth said, smiling, and she gave her daughter a look – who just ignored her look, like always in such situations, smiling, and she shook her head at her daughter. "Like a cup of coffee?"

"Sure." The sheriff said, sitting down at their table. "That's what I need right now. Imagine, I've just come from the bank."

"Don't tell us that there's been a bank robbery?" Beatrice asked the moment Gwyneth brought a cup of coffee to their table and sat down, too.

Of course she knew that Gwyneth had listened to their conversation, the girl had been sitting with them, of course, but she also knew that she'd kept out of it because she didn't want to talk back to her, her mother. Of course they'd had discussions like that before, and of course she knew her daughter's opinion on that matter, but Gwyneth would never talk back to her in public and therefore getting her in a conceding position where she had to defend herself against her own daughter. Gwyneth would of course openly discuss matters like that with others, but not with Odhran or her, her elders, they'd do that in privacy.

"Actually – that's what happened." Cole Benson answered and she looked at the sheriff startled, shocked.

"You're kidding, Cole." Gwyneth gasped, and this time she couldn't even tell her daughter off, because that really were shocking news.

"Nope." The man said. "It's been old Mrs. Smith."

"That surely has to be a mistake, sheriff." She said, shaking her head. "I know Mrs. Smith, and that woman surely wouldn't do such a thing. She doesn't even have a weapon."

"No real weapon." The sheriff said and she frowned. "She's tried to rob the bank with a squirt gun – but I know that she's just done that to get a ticket to the mental ward at Whitechapel Mount Hospital."

"It's because her son has lost his job and can't take care of her anymore, isn't it?" She asked and she could see that Beatrice was thinking in the same way.

"I guess." The sheriff answered. "He's working abroad, sending her enough money so that she can live off it and I'm sure she didn't want him having to bother with her anymore, now that he has to look after himself and his own family, and so she'd thought that with a ticket to the mental ward, she'd be taken care of without him having to send money to her. She'd have a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and three meals a day – and knowing her, she really meant well."

"I hope you haven't arrested her, sheriff!" She couldn't help saying.

"Of course I haven't." The man shook his head. "I've brought her home. I'm just not sure what to do now, because that won't solve her problems – and neither will it solve her son's problems."

"Well, I guess we can't solve her son's problems, but we can do something for Mrs. Smith." Beatrice said, and she nodded, because yes – they could, and knowing the women from this small valley – they would. Most likely there would be a delegation starting to care for Mrs. Smith's pantry and her power- and water bill.

Never had a citizen from New Heaven's Valley been left alone to rot on the streets or to die of hunger or cold, people had always taken care of each other. Maybe it was because New Heaven's Valley was a really small dale with no more than a thousand people living there, and most people knew each other. They were like a really big family, while in the cities like Whitechapel Mount City or Indianapolis people were strangers amongst strangers – they'd barely give up their own belongings to help others, while here … well, if there was need of something, then someone would help out with it. _  
_

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Gabe Heavensville**

Steering the bike along Eastern Cottonwood Trail that led through the mountains, outside of the valley and then along the stone masonry of the Graham Mansion, he smiled when he felt Angus relaxing his hold – finally, as it wasn't easy getting this child to relax, as it wasn't easy getting this child to … simply act like any child would even though this child was truly a warrior of God – at least he'd be one – and it was his job to prepare him for what lay ahead.

Not really. It hadn't been God who'd told him – go and prepare Angus McFlaherty for the upcoming war. No … but God had sent him here to New Heaven's Valley, and upon arriving here, he'd known his destination, because this particular valley was a very special valley with very special people.

For example, there was Wohehiv – a Cheyenne that was living in a log hut close to Mount Eagle, and while the Indian actually was a Professor in medicine, he also was a warrior, still, his blood being the blood of a warrior and his heart being the heart of a warrior – and he was a warrior of God, something he was very glad for, because he knew that this man, even though being human and surely no match for one of the angels, was strong.

Then there was Cameron Chandler, a man of God who taught his students about God, and about Jesus – a man who was a true believer despite having absolved theologian studies, and a man that lived up to his own expectations. He, too, was a man truly walking with God, and he had the ability to see that unseen war going on between the armies of God's angels, and the hordes of Satan's demons, like several other people living in New Heaven's Valley had – like Sébastien Lafayette, just for example, even though he didn't really know what to make out of that particular man.

Sébastien Lafayette was a visitor of their church, too, but he was one of the strangest members of their church – by far – and sometimes he couldn't help narrowing his eyes at the man when watching him, the thought that surely he had to be one of Satan's demons not leaving his mind and always there was a shudder running through his body when talking to him, but he knew that the man wasn't. He was as much a warrior on God's side as was he, Gabriel, and he didn't really understand his own feelings when it came to that man.

Well, out of the New Heaven's Valley young, it would be Damien and Dorian Cleveland as well as Timmy Sanchez who'd live to become true men of God, even though none of them thought about such a thing right now, and Conner Uí Ceallaigh would share leadership together with Angus, little Lilly, the girl most people thought was crackpot and eccentric, and a boy he could see in his mind's eyes but had never seen in town, a child he was sure didn't live here yet.

There were other people he could see, too, other people who didn't live here yet, people who weren't believers even, but people who'd come, and people who'd find their way to God, fighting side by side in this unseen war between the armies of light and the dark hordes – but whoever they were, and whenever they'd come – wherever they'd come from – he knew one thing, namely that New Heaven's Valley would be one of the last churches standing – one of God's last churches, because that was, what this valley was, a church, even though most people wouldn't call it that, would call them heretics.

And yet – this church was a true church of God, was a true communion the way the first churches had lived after Jesus had taught his disciples, because they truly cared about God, and because they truly cared about each other.

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, and the Creator of heaven and earth." He heard Angus saying in a clear voice, feeling the boy's arms releasing his waist and he knew that he was extending his arms to his side, the boy's normally hunched body going straight and tall, the child's face lifted up to the sky. "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son and our Lord, who was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. I believe in the Holy Spirit who is God's mediator and the author of our Bible, God's words. I believe in God's church, in the communion of his angels, and in eternal life."

There was a whooping just the moment they passed the farthest borders of Graham Mansion to their right, entering the barren wasteland surrounding Whitechapel Mount City, Eastern Cottonwood Trail and the mountains around New Heaven's Valley, and he slowed down before stopping the bike and allowing the child to climb down.

They'd take a rest before he'd bring the boy back home, and either the child would lay down in the warm sand, having a silent conversation with God, or they'd talk – about the future, about the present, and about the past … and the boy knew exactly what the future held for him, even though he'd never told him.

"Gabriel." A voice he knew came from his left, and smiling he turned towards his oldest friend.

"Michael." He answered. "It's good to see you. How are things up there?"

"Quite fine, Gabriel – or would you prefer Gabe?" Michael answered, his eyebrow lifted and he couldn't help rolling his eyes at the typical seriousness the greatest of all warriors was displaying – just like always.

"Gabriel it is – even though I should choose Gabe just to annoy you." He chuckled. "What are you doing here, anyway, Michael?" He asked, his eyes narrowed at the other angel.

"I've come to see you." Michael answered. "After all, it's been a while."

"Don't you tell me that you've missed me." He smiled, because he knew that exactly that was the reason as to why Michael had come.

"Of course not." The military leader huffed. "I've just come to make sure you're not creating a mess – like always."

"Hmm." He couldn't help smiling, knowing the archangel's sometimes strange sense of humor. "And did you find everything to your satisfaction?"

"I did." Michael said, just before his eyes narrowed. "New Heaven's Valley is indeed a very special town – and people there are indeed born to serve our Lord."

"Ah, you've been there, already." He nodded.

"Yes, I've been there – and a creature of the dark, too." Michael added, and indeed, now that the warrior had mentioned it, he could see his sword pulsating slightly, pulsating in triumph about the victory over a demon.

"What dealings did a creature of the dark have in New Heaven's Valley?" He growled, darkly, not liking this news.

"Getting New Heaven's Valley back to Devil's Dale." Michael said with a growl in his voice. "This valley is a thorn in Satan's side since it had risen from the dark, and now, that great things will happen here, I fear that this demon hasn't been the last one making an appearance in foreseeable future."

"Then it's time now?" The small voice of Angus McFlaherty joined the conversation, the normally so shy boy stepping closer, eyeing the archangel with large eyes, and he chuckled.

"Come here, child." He waved the boy closer. "May I introduce to you: Lord Michael, archangel and the military leader of God's armies."

"And the one that will defeat Satan in the end." The boy whispered, stepping closer, fearlessly but with a lot of respect.

"You must be Angus McFlaherty." Michael said, going down to one knee before the boy so that he was at eye-level with the child, and he nearly laughed at the picture of the highest angel kneeling before a child – nearly, mind you, because one didn't simply laugh at Michael, not if his life was important to him.

"Is it time, now, Lord Michael?" The boy asked, more insistent now, after he'd answered the angel's question with a nodding of his head.

"Not yet, little one." The great warrior said, seriously – even though he could see a hint of amusement shining in Michael's steely blue eyes. "Not yet."

"But it'll be soon, won't it?" The child asked without a hint of fear.

"It will be soon – in my terms." Michael calmly answered. "But in your time span, it will be many years until that time."

"Will you teach me, Lord?" The boy then asked, pointing at the highest captain's sword.

"Would you like me teaching you, little one?" Michael asked back, his eyebrow raised, and quickly the child nodded. "Then I will do just that, little one, but not now. You need to grow a bit more before you might be able holding a sword, but I will do."

"Will you visit the valley?" Gabriel asked, his hand laying on the boy's shoulder. "Like a citizen instead of the archangel you are."

"That was what I've been planning before meeting the demon, chasing after him, and then meeting you." Michael nodded, getting back to his feet after regarding the child with a last, serious look.

"Good." He smiled. "I have a guest room, and I hope that it won't be too plain for you. I have a question, though, before we go back."

"Yes?" Michael asked, watching him expectantly.

"Sébastien Lafayette." He said.

"What's with him?" Michael lifted his eyebrow. "Sounds like a French name."

"I'm not sure." He shook his head, frowning. "I know that he's on the side of the light, but I also know that he's a demon."

"You do realize that before his fall Satan was Lucifer, the light-bringer, the most beautiful of all – and yet, he is evil anyway, bringing destruction and death, deceiving man, angel, and even God himself." Michael pierced him with his eyes.

"Of course I do." He rolled his eyes. "I was there, after all. I've seen him falling and I know what have become of him – and yet, I know that Sébastien Lafayette is a demon of the dark, that he's one of Satan's creatures … while at the same time I know that he's loyal to God, that he'd die for God. How is that possible?"

"I can't answer your question, Gabriel." Michael sighed. "I'm sure that you've viewed it from the entire theologian side, but looking at it from the military side, or from the strategically side, I can't tell either."

"Well, I guess we'll know." He sighed, too. "Before the end, we'll know."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Conner Uí Ceallaigh**

"Never mind _that_ , now." Bradyn said, and he leaned his elbows on the table, sighing, because he thought that it was important, even though Bryan didn't. "Wohehiv had been at hospital for days now, and it won't change anytime soon, not before Owen is alright and dad said he's very badly off. We'll just need to be careful."

"What about the weather?" He asked. "We should've been going today!"

"I can't." Bradyn said, glaring at him because he'd told him already. "And what's with the weather anyway? Nothing will be with the weather, the weather will be just fine. Look up there, there's no single cloud, not within a range of two hundred miles around New Heaven's Valley. What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." He said, his brows furrowed. "I'm just using my brain, that's all."

"Your brain is divided into two parts." Bryan said and he rolled with his eyes, because even though he was two years younger than his cousin, he knew _that_. "And your left part has nothing right in it, and your right part has nothing left in it!"

"Well, the same goes for you." He huffed. "Anyway, we just should plan this through in an appropriate way."

"Conner Uí Ceallaigh!" Bradyn called out, clearly annoyed. "I've planned going up there even before I've asked you to come, too, and I've been climbing the mountains last year already. If you're scared, then just leave it and go home to your mum, but tomorrow morning I'll go up there and now stop these nonsense 'ifs' and 'buts' or I won't take you with me."

For a moment he was angry at Bradyn's tone, but then he swallowed his anger, because he knew that his cousin was the older of the two, that he had some experience when it came to climbing the mountains, and that he was overly careful anyway. Not to mention that, they were family, they were friends, and an argument such as this wasn't worth risking their friendship. He just wanted to make sure that all went well and the way they'd planned it – that was all.

For another moment he couldn't help thinking that a friendship such as theirs surely should survive an argument such as this, but then he pushed the thought off, because it really wasn't worth it and it surely wasn't important enough either. They'd go climbing first thing tomorrow morning, and everything would go well.

"I've packed some rations." Bradyn said, continuing in their planning. "We've eaten up what we've brought to the clearing, and so I've packed some apples and a few carrots. I'll bring sandwiches, too."

"Dad has two old water bottles in the shed." He said, leaning back in his chair. "I'll bring them."

"Great, I remember a hiking tour we've been on with Uncle Dewayne, it's been a great weekend and he's had those water bottles with him, too, back then." Bryan said, happily. "Just stop worrying, Conner, it will be a great day. We'll start early tomorrow morning, and everything will go alright – and before nightfall we'll be back home. We have everything we need, and no one will notice. And I'll go praying, too, tonight – if that's no prospect, then I don't know what is."

Well, he didn't think that God would listen to Bryan's prayer and help them in doing something that was forbidden in more than just one way, but he didn't say that aloud, knowing that Bryan wouldn't listen to him anyway, knowing that _that_ wasn't what Bryan wanted to hear right now. For Brian everything was so easy – and things either worked, or they didn't work. He was living on the typical Irish two-way philosophy: in life, there're only two things to worry about: either you're well, or you're sick, and if you're well, then there's nothing to worry about. But if you're sick, then again, there're only two things to worry about: either you'll get well, or you'll die, and if you get well, then there's nothing to worry about. But if you die, then again, there're only two things to worry about: either you'll go to heaven, or you'll go to hell, and if you go to heaven, then there's nothing to worry about. Well, and if you go to hell, then you'll be so damn busy shaking hands with all your friends, you won't have time to worry at all.

He didn't think that it was as easy as this. There might be two possibilities, always, that was true – you either cared or you didn't, you either got annoyed, or you didn't, and so on – but if you went to hell, then really you did have a problem and surely you didn't find all your friends there, not if you've been a good man having good friends – but if you were a good man, then surely you wouldn't go to hell at all, would you?

And what was hell anyway?

He didn't think that there was an actual place on a map that was called hell, deep down in the earth and filled with fire and lava, with a creature called Satan sitting on a throne. No, he was sure that it rather was a place here on the surface of the earth, and that it was all over the earth, actually, but that it was the absence of God and therefore of love and kind words, of warmth, of light, that it was a place filled with hatred and such, and in this case – if you met your friends there, then surely you wouldn't be shaking their hands, because you wouldn't love them anymore, and they wouldn't love you anymore, you'd hate them, and they'd hate you. It would be horrible – no, better not thinking of that!

He was sure that he wouldn't go to hell, that he wouldn't stay here on earth, but that he would go with Jesus to heaven the moment he came back to gather his people – even though he was doing something that was forbidden. Sure, he knew that he shouldn't do that, and sure, he knew that his parents wouldn't be happy – but that didn't mean that his heart was bad, did it? And that was what Jesus would looking at, his heart, not if he'd been a perfect boy doing perfect things.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Walter Sherman**

Summer holidays this year at New Heaven's Valley, was much more interesting than last year.

Well – maybe it was just because he knew these people by now better than he did last year, even though he didn't really know them, had barely spoken to them. But he knew some of their names, and he knew which children belonged to which parents, where they lived and what jobs they had – or what they preferred doing during the summer holidays.

For example, there were the twins, the Cleveland boys. They hadn't been there last year, but somehow he liked them. They wouldn't be alone, never mind what, because even if their mother – and he knew that they had come here without their father, most likely the guy having left the family because one reason or another, because clearly that was what most men would do, that was what his dad would do if he didn't fear his mom going to a lawyer then, taking half of his wealth – well, those twins, even if their mother left them one day, they weren't alone, anyway, because they still had each other, and that was so cool. He'd love it, having a brother. He'd even be happy with a sister, really.

But well – he had neither the one nor the other.

However, then there were Conner and another boy, he didn't know his name – nor did he know Conner's family name.

It wasn't easy learning about the family names in a town where people didn't use any kind of family names but their given names only, but well, he guessed that wasn't important. It was Conner and his friend from next door, and they were planning to climb Mount Eagle for days now. He'd watched them taking position in a clearing close to the Indian's hut.

He'd seen them when climbing the roofs in his own search for something he could steal. A roll or a bun people threw away, for example, a few tomatoes or a few apples he could steal from a garden. Or even for a few candles or a book, or anything else that seemed useful to him – and you wouldn't belief what people threw away, really. Once he'd found a bottle with milk someone had put before a door, that's been great and he'd loved it. Well – only later he'd realized that actually it's been a guy called dairyman who replaced the empty milk bottles people put before their doors with full milk bottles.

Well – and just a few days ago he'd found a half-dead rat in a garbage can. He'd picked the poor thing out of the garbage, and he'd healed it, and now the rat had become something like a friend. She – at least he guessed that it was a female rat – hadn't even left him ever since. And it was much easier getting food for the rat, than for him, because that animal was eating anything she got between her teeth, even his jacket she'd gnawed at, and his chemistry book.

It was a good thing, that it was summer, right now, and that it was very hot, actually, because imagine his new friend had gnawed at his socks in winter? Or at his shoes?

He didn't really know what to do with the girl once school started, as they weren't allowed bringing animals, but well – he'd find one solution or another, and maybe the fleabag – that's what he'd called her – would be ready for going back to the wilds, even though he'd be rather unhappy with that particular solution as he'd learned to love her.

However, he'd seen Conner and his friend from next door watching the Indian, and that could mean one thing only – namely, that they were planning climbing Mount Eagle. He also had taken a look at the mountain, and huffing he shook his head, because it was a very difficult mountain to climb. The lower slopes were easy to take, especially with that dry weather that kept the ground hard and solid, but the higher rock face was very difficult and Conner seemed too small for climbing that wall, even in company with his older and sturdier friend.

Well – and then there was the Indian they were watching, of course.

Maybe he wouldn't know of him, had he not last year caught the other boy, but he'd seen him catching Conner's friend trying to climb Mount Eagle, and this year he'd seen him a few times, but not at Mount Eagle, but driving into the direction of Whitechapel Mount. He didn't know what he was doing there, there was nothing up there than Hathaway and the hospital – and Whitechapel Mount City beyond the mountain, of course, and nothing of that would be of interest for an Indian.

The strange thing was, one of the children from the city had been bit by a snake, and since that day the Indian had started being very active, so – maybe he was related to the boy, or maybe he was working at the hospital, being someone who could make an antivenom for the snake poison – even though he'd rather think of Hrothgar when it came to poison or chemicals, but Hrothgar surely wouldn't work at a hospital during his summer holidays but was on his vacation, most likely annoying his family.

Most teachers from Hathaway went to their families during the summer holidays – to their siblings, or to their parents, to their cousins or similar. At least, he didn't know a teacher who had a wife and children himself. So – Hrothgar would go to his siblings, or to his cousins, because surely he was too old to go to his parents – the man was, what? Two hundred and something years old? Three hundred and something years old? So – his siblings or his cousins it would be he'd be annoying during the summer holidays, and it would be left to the Indian taking care of snake bites and any kind of antivenom.

It was strange, that he was thinking of Hrothgar of all people when it came to needing help with a snakebite, because surely Hrothgar would be the last being ready for that, especially if it was a child that had been bitten by a snake. He'd hardly do more than laughing at any child that was bitten by a snake, because the man simply hated children.

Not generally, he guessed, because there were those few in his own house which he didn't hate, on the contrary – the man always preferred them. He'd never ridicule them, and he'd never punish them. They wouldn't get into trouble, wouldn't get detention, and they'd not even lose points, while any other student got into detention at least once a week, and while each day at least three students in each class would lose points during chemistry.

He'd learned living with this particular unfairness, and he'd learned trying to be as invisible during chemistry as possible – because if he was invisible, then Hrothgar couldn't attack him.

Well – and then there was that guy with the bike, Gabe, and he was simply cool.

He was picking up the little brother from Conner's friend at a daily basis, taking him for a ride, and secretly he was dreaming of being on a ride with that guy, too. He'd left the roofs during one night or another, had crept to the man's house and he'd looked at the bike, just because he'd wanted taking a closer look.

Sure, it was a risk, leaving his roofs.

He did go to the butcher, sometimes, asking him for a sausage or something like that – for his not existent dog, of course – and he'd always told him a story about visiting his uncle during the summer holidays, and luckily the man had never asked for his uncle's name, or he would have had a problem.

And he'd also left the roofs to get a few rolls or something else he needed – but each time he left his safety, he ran risk of being found, and he knew that _that_ , were to be a disaster – and a real disaster it would be. He only did that if there was no other way and he was really hungry – or desperately needed one thing or another.

He'd be glad the moment holidays were over, because the moment he was back at school, he'd be back at home. He wouldn't have to steal food or other things he needed, and he wouldn't have to hide out on the roofs either. He'd be with his friends, he'd be at home, and he could be learning – even though his parents would be very unhappy if they knew what exactly he was learning, as he'd stopped his natural scientific studies last year, already, and had started learning jurisprudence.

His father wanted him to study math, chemistry and physics so that he could take over his companies one day – but he didn't want that. There were so many people out there needing a good lawyer who didn't get a lot of money out of them. Who'd be there for them? Who'd take care that they, too, were granted their rights?

His father wouldn't like it.

Maybe he'd be alright with it if he became a star-lawyer, making a lot of money, maybe even working for his companies – but if his father knew that he was planning becoming a lawyer for those who didn't have a lot of money, he'd be very, very unhappy and he'd immediately stop paying his school fees. In other words – he would have to make sure that his parents wouldn't learn of it, and so he continued "studying" the curses, at least he was taking them, but in truth he was attending several different curses in jurisprudence.

He'd see where he'd end.

But somehow he knew that – he'd end well, and he'd end happy, at least happier than his parents were now …

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter eight: … Lavender, Jethro and Dunstan …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	8. God's little warrior

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, cause rings of your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat,  
or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _He'd be glad the moment holidays were over, because the moment he was back at school, he'd be back at home. He wouldn't have to steal food or other things he needed, and he wouldn't have to hide out on the roofs either. He'd be with his friends, he'd be at home, and he could be learning – even though his parents would be very unhappy if they knew what exactly he was learning, as he'd stopped his natural scientific studies last year, already, and had started learning jurisprudence._

 _His father wanted him to study math, chemistry and physics so that he could take over his companies one day – but he didn't want that. There were so many people out there needing a good lawyer who didn't get a lot of money out of them. Who'd be there for them? Who'd take care that they, too, were granted their rights?_

 _His father wouldn't like it._

 _Maybe he'd be alright with it if he became a star-lawyer, making a lot of money, maybe even working for his companies – but if his father knew that he was planning becoming a lawyer for those who didn't have a lot of money, he'd be very, very unhappy and he'd immediately stop paying his school fees. In other words – he would have to make sure that his parents wouldn't learn of it, and so he continued "studying" the curses, at least he was taking them, but in truth he was attending several different curses in jurisprudence._

 _He'd see where he'd end._

 _But somehow he knew that – he'd end well, and he'd end happy, at least happier than his parents were now …_

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter eight – God's little warrior**

 **Or – one riddle solved …**

 **July 19th 1939, Wednesday Morning – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Bradyn McFlaherty**

It was early in the morning and he'd just called a short "bye mom, I'll go skating in Whitechapel Mount City with Conner" and then he'd been gone before his mother could have said anything – and he was sure that the very same scene, just with another name being used, had been played out at his aunt's house.

He'd quickly ran along Butternut Path that led towards the bus stop before he'd turned into American Chestnut Avenue that went into Basswood Road leading to the edge of the woods and their favourite place, the log where they'd met for days now, and again, they were on their way uphill.

Just like always, it was slow going – them creeping through the thicket and through the brushwood, making sure that they weren't seen from the valley – neither from Wohehiv, should he be at home, nor from any other villager who happened to come by.

They had all they needed, backpacks with rations and water, penknives, ropes, pitons and this or that like a map, compass and of course a flashlight. He'd even thought of a first aid kit and of matches to make a signal fire encase of an emergency, even though he better prayed that such wouldn't be necessary as they'd be in so much trouble then.

They'd watched the mountain for several days now, looking for the best possible route, and they'd even drawn their route on the map, making sure that what they were seeing with their eyes was comparable with what the map told them. He wouldn't make a mistake, not this time, and surely not if he had Conner with him.

And so they were on their way uphill to meet the first roots of the mountain.

Those first slopes would be easy, and the hard part of it would only come later the moment they reached the rock face. On the other hand, if he took Murphy's law which said that nothing was as easy as it looked, that everything took longer than expected, and that if anything could go wrong, then it would go wrong, and at the worst possible moment no less – then he better didn't even start.

However, today everything would go alright.

The weather was just fine, the day had just started out well, neither Conner nor he had been kept by their mothers, and they had packed everything they needed.

In the evening they'd reach the mountain top, and from there they easily could go downhill towards the baseball pitch. Well, and from the baseball pitch, they'd take the bus back to New Heaven's Valley. They'd be home before ten in the evening, and for a day off skating in Whitechapel Mount City, that was an acceptable time.

Everything was perfect.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Hereweald Hrothgar**

Scowling he saw Timmy Sanchez sitting by Owen's bed – again – and with quick strides he went over to the little bother, sure that the idiot boy had taken the first bus to the hospital instead of having breakfast – not to mention that that drunkard of an uncle surely hadn't cared about breakfast for the boy anyway. If he knew anything about that idiot boy meanwhile, then it was that.

Not only had he learned about one thing or another during their – rather painful – conversations, and really, each conversation he had to hold with one of those idiot little snots was a painful experience, but also he'd asked Wohehiv and Nolan about that boy and his family – or rather why his family would be always absent, not even picking the boy up from hospital in the evening hours.

"I take it you have not bothered with breakfast, Mr. Sanchez, have you?" He asked, lifting his eyebrow at the little imp.

"Uhm –" The idiot child made and he sneered down in his best Hrothgar-manner.

"How very eloquent of you." He growled, coldly. "Go and report to the canteen, young man. I'll hand you back your atrocious work you might call an essay after you have sustained something more nutrimental than what your uncle might have provided you with."

Of course he knew that most likely the idiot boy wasn't able to understand just fifty percent of the words he had used – but he didn't really care about that. He watched him hopping – _hopping_ , mind you! – away happily after calling an "alright, sir" and he allowed himself a suffering groan of annoyance, irritation and frustration.

Why on earth did he have to work at the children's ward this year?

Wasn't it enough that he worked with idiot little monsters during the school year? Trying to get some stuff into their not-existent brains? And wasn't it enough that he sacrificed his well-earned holidays to work at the hospital? In the laboratories of the hospital, to be exact? No! No, he had to work at the children's ward this year as they were understaffed!

"Need an aspirin, or rather a swig of whiskey?" He heard Wohehiv asking and with a huff he turned towards the Cheyenne.

"Give me an entire bottle of it, and then I will be alright." He answered.

"That bad?" The Indian asked and he growled at the man that was close to falling asleep while standing.

"Why don't you go home for the day, Indian?" He asked in annoyance. "Mr. Roberts won't die today, Mr. Sanchez won't cause trouble, Mr. Warren is on the mend and Hadrian won't do something stupid either. He's been alright for days now."

"So that you have all the fun for yourself?" The idiot man asked back at him. "I think not."

"Fun indeed." He growled. "You may stay then and I go home." He added, glaring at the Cheyenne.

"No Problem here." Came Wohehiv's answer and this time he really narrowed his eyes.

"Just go, you idiot redskin!" He huffed.

"Since when are you doing the personal planning, Northman?" Wohehiv asked, his dark eyes twinkling at him with amusement – a little fact that annoyed him just the more – he was calling him an idiot redskin, and the man didn't even give him the satisfaction of being angry!

"Since you are irresponsible in your action, remaining at hospital while being overtired and exhausted." He growled.

"The same goes for you, Mr. Professor Doctor Hrothgar." Wohehiv laughed at him.

"Idiot." Was all he answered, because there wasn't anything he could say against it, he knew that the other man was right, even though he didn't like his title being used – and surely not in a way the damn Cheyenne so often did.

Idiot man!

"But well – you're right." Wohehiv said, and he lifted his eyebrow. "I'll make sure that everything's alright, and then I'll leave you to these nice and pleasant, little children."

He just glared at the man, angrily, watching him turning to go back into the bright and sunny pit of a ward office where he'd come from, and alone the thought of – bright and sunny – caused some headache to take hold. Which pit, for heaven's sake, would be bright and sunny? He preferred the dark and cold places, really! But of course the Indian would like a bright and sunny place.

With one last glare he turned to go into his own office – which he'd got from the hospital administration for the summer, and which he'd freed of any bright and colourful item he'd found in there. Really, this was a hospital and no kindergarten. Of course he knew that children needed air and light and colours and other such horrific stuff for their health – but please not in his office!

Soft sniffing got him out of his thoughts, and turning towards the annoying sound, entering one of the nurseries, he frowned when seeing Hadrian – the very boy he'd just moments ago assured Wohehiv of, he wouldn't do anything stupid – sitting in a corner in his darkened room. Not that sitting in a corner of a room with closed shutters and sniffing around would be something stupid the boy could do – he went over to the idiot child anyway, just because he'd told Wohehiv that Hadrian wouldn't do anything stupid, and so he'd make sure that the boy really didn't. He wouldn't risk his reputation, not at all.

"What is it, boy?" He asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible – something that wasn't easy if being annoyed the way he was right now, and if being overtired as he was right now, too.

"Nothin'." The idiot boy answered – sniffing.

"You wouldn't be sitting there, sniffing, if there were nothing bothering you." He sighed, even though he'd rather like to growl.

The only answer he got was a shrugging of the boy's shoulders.

"Very well." He said, reaching down and picking the idiot boy up from the floor, seating him into the armchair in a corner of the room. "You might sulk as long as you like, I don't care about that, but not during my shift, Hadrian. Now sit down, boy, and speak up."

"There's nothin'." The idiot boy stubbornly said, his voice angry now – good. If he was angry, then there was at least an emotion left.

"Try again, boy." He said. "And while we're at it, I see no reason for closed curtains and windows during a warm, bright and sunny day such as this." He then added, opening the curtains with resolute movements to allow the bright sunlight into the room. He also opened the windows to allow fresh air into the room – very much to the boy's annoyance, he could clearly see that, but well, if _he_ had to suffer, then the boy best would suffer, too, and if getting light and air into the depressed area did it, then be it.

"Now …" He said, halfway sitting at the edge of the table.

"Just my parents." The boy shrugged his shoulders, realizing that he wouldn't be left alone anyway.

"What's with them?" He asked.

They'd brought the boy – and not for the first time – several days ago when it was clear that he was suffering from depression – again – and really, why did he have to deal with such?

He was a biochemist!

He was working in the hospital's laboratories!

He was doing tests and experiments!

He did _not_ care for idiot children that had nothing else to do than getting into depressions!

"Well – why did they leave me here?" The boy asked, sniffing. "Three times?"

Taking a deep breath he ran his hand over his face.

He was tired.

For days now Wohehiv and he were here to care for those idiot children, sometimes taking turns, sometimes working together, but even though the hospital administration had assured them that they'd get more personal for the holidays, they were still alone _…_ together with a caregiver, but two professors and one caregiver simply weren't enough for a children's ward as large as this one here at Whitechapel Mount Hospital, and he hadn't left the hospital to go to his motel room for days now, had slept on the sofa in the hall – if he had time for sleeping.

"The correct question would be – why keep coming back?" He tiredly answered. "Always _…_ "

He could see the wheels in the boy's head starting to turn, and he took a deep breath.

"Get up, boy, and let's have a walk in the garden." He then said, waving the boy over. "I guess a few steps will do good to both of us."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **At the house of Jean McIory**

Slowly Dunstan steered the old Cherokee into the driveway and stopped near the front veranda, beside an old, black Voyager that was parked in the yard in front of the house. A trailer stood beside the other side of the car but otherwise the yard as well as the large driveway was a catastrophe. A few old wrecks stood there and between them lay wheels, old and dented car doors, a fender, an exhaust and other car parts as well as tools and other things, everything mingled together in chaos.

Looking around, shocked, he got off his car, went towards the large house and slowly climbed the stairs towards the front door. When he reached it he hesitated for a split second, but then he lifted his hand and knocked, determined.

There wasn't an answer, however, and after he had waited a few seconds he knocked a second time, but again there was no reaction from the inside of the house. Even while he stood there he still wondered if someone was at home at all, but the black Voyager didn't look like the other wrecks, it was registered. And Norman had sounded as if this person didn't leave his house often if not being called to an accident or a broken down car. So, frowning, he waited for another moment before he slowly and thoughtfully went down the stairs and then walked off to the back of the house.

Behind the house there was an even bigger mess than in front of the building. Old cars ready for the junkyard, engines, wheels, an old motorbike, several barrels, tools and other things were laying and standing everywhere and carefully Dunstan searched his way through the chaos until he reached the large veranda behind the house.

Hadn't Norman said this person had a towing service with a small garage? This here rather looked like a junkyard to him than a garage.

Three stairs led to the wooden and canopied veranda that was surrounded with a wooden garden fence. On one of the supporters hang an old oil lamp and he wondered if it was in use still, it looked a bit too old and rusty to him. To the left of the steps stood a large charcoal grill that clearly hadn't been used for a long time, Dunstan noticed with one quick glance. The grill itself was rusty and leaned against the wall of the house, forgotten. A large wooden table stood in the middle of the veranda with a garden bench and two wooden chairs surrounding it. And in one of those chairs, his back halfway towards him, was sitting a young man.

Open and long black hair fell over slender shoulders, and a black, sleeveless t-shirt covered a slender upper body. The young man was sitting in the wooden garden-chair, motionlessly, allowing the bright sun rays to warm his still figure, while he looked over the wide grassland behind the house, towards the edge of the nearby forest, lost deep in whatever thoughts, and he didn't notice the visitor that stood there for several moments, motionlessly, watching him.

Once more Dunstan softly knocked, this time at the window that sat in the wall of the house to his right, but again he didn't receive an answer, the young man didn't react, and finally, after a few seconds, he ascended the stairs and entered the large Veranda.

"Excuse me." Dunstan softly said with his deep voice.

He just as well could have screamed the words however, considering the reaction the young man finally showed, startled, flinching violently, and even if Dunstan couldn't see his face, he could _feel_ the panic that seemed to radiate from the other. He could see the young man's left hand grasping the armrests of the chair tightly, the knuckles turning white with the effort while the slender form went straight with fright. But then he seemed to get back control over himself and slowly he relaxed, leaned back in the garden chair, his right hand running over his face for a moment. Dunstan lowered his head to the side a bit at the man's reaction.

"My apology." He said, his voice calm and quiet. "It was not my intention startling you. Are you … Mr. Jean McIory?"

Just at this moment the young man finally turned towards him, looking at Dunstan, and at the same moment the dark clad stranger thought he would choke, would choke to death, while his heart seemed to run higher a bit just to stop completely after that.

Joshua.

Joshua was sitting there. Josh was sitting at this very veranda in a wooden chair.

He was sure that it was Josh, even though …

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

The warmth of the sun he was sitting in was doing wonders and with a soft sigh Jean closed his eyes – and yet, even in the warmth of the sun rays, he shivered.

He had brought a book outside. For weeks it had lain around and finally he had pulled himself together to take it to the veranda. But already after a few lines he had placed it back onto the table in front of him. His eyes had started hurting while reading and his headaches hadn't gotten any better because of it either, and so he'd placed it back at the table.

However, it didn't matter – and he'd gotten used to it anyway. For five years now his life was dark. It was dark, and empty, and cold, had become strange to him somehow, had depleted him.

He felt empty and cold, like a stranger to himself, as if he would stand beside himself for ninety percent of the day, watching himself struggling to fight his way through his life that was so far away as if it had played out in another life, in another time, in another land, to a different person.

Driven by his own inner restlessness his thoughts, his life seemed to stumble from one place, from one time, from one condition to the other without really reaching his destiny, without even knowing, without even sensing where his destiny lay, or what reason for, while he lived with the knowledge that he never would reach that what he didn't even know.

Startled he flinched at the soft voice that came from behind.

He had been lost in his thoughts so deeply, he hadn't noticed the visitor and for a split second panic had started to overtake his control before he got angry.

He didn't expect visitors, he didn't _wish_ for visitors, and against his own will his hands grasped the armrests of the chair he was sitting in, while for a split second he thought to hear the voices of the Hudsons again, thought to smell the mouldiness of the old, rotten hut. But then he regained control over himself, forced himself to relax when the voice spoke again, because it was a different voice.

"My apology." A deep and velvet voice calmly said. "It was not my intention startling you. Are you … Mr. Jean McIory?" And finally he turned to look at the visitor, slowly, nearly gasping – because there stood his dad.

That was the first thought that came to Jean's mind. It just had to be his father, his stature, his face, even his hair and the eyes. Those eyes, his dad's eyes, his dad's gaze, his way to move, and his entire appearance. His father would look like this now, if he were still alive. Even his voice, this deep and velvet, soft and calm voice, it had to be his dad.

And yet, he wasn't, because his dad was dead – and because he wouldn't ask if he were Jean McIory as he'd know him.

The older man always had been there, by his side, for all of his life, but now – he wasn't alive anymore, wasn't here anymore to provide him with peace, wasn't here anymore to stand by his side like he always had done. His father was dead. He had died five years ago. He had died to save his life, had died because of his – Jean's – stupidity.

It had been _his_ fault – and again, like so often, this particular thought hit him like a fist into the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't help gasping for a moment.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

When the young man finally turned and his green eyes fell on him, Dunstan nearly was hit by paralysis that even seemed to spread over to his lungs to resist his need to breathe, that even seemed to spread over to his heart that suddenly refused to continue beating.

Only after what seemed to him like an eternity during which he thought he would suffocate, during which he thought his mind played a trick on him, he finally was able to take a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control, and his eyes fixed the young man while he had to keep himself from blinking stupidly a few times before they got soft and calm, before his entire face relaxed, the always present and harsh lines smoothing out.

Because he had found what he had come for …

He knew that Joshua was dead, because he himself had held him in his arms when he had died – and therefore he also knew that this young man here in front of him was not Joshua, even though – Dunstan's sharp and alert eyes easily made out the same stature, the same young face, the same poise … the same okd injuries – and only the dirt and blood was missing, the wounds having become scars.

Norman's and Edgar's words came back into his mind, words spoken in a conversation held only a few days ago, only a few days, but right now, in this moment, it rather seemed like half an eternity instead of a few days.

 **Flashback**

 _"Well, Dunstan." Norman began. "While we're speaking of Jean – you're still looking for a more comfortable abode than the motel? You said something 'bout … outside a bit?"_

 _"Yes, I am still looking." Dunstan answered after he had taken a sip of the coffee. "Why?"_

 _"As I said, Jean has brought the truck last night and we've spoken a bit. You know, for more than five years now he has this small towing service, seven miles down the highway. He has a large house and after …" Here Norman trailed off, hesitating a few seconds, but then, after he had looked at Edgar who suddenly averted his eyes, he continued. "Well, since Isaac's death he lives alone out there. His dad was all that had been left to him, after all, and he'd never been quite the same after that. And so I thought that maybe you could move in with him 'till you've saved enough money for your own house, and … well, he'd said yes."_

 _Alright, that solved one of his troubles as the motel was anything than a comfortable place to live at, but other than that – he still felt at a loss, somehow. But then he sighed, he'd go that step, he'd move in with that guy, and then he'd see where to go from there and what would happen from there._

 _"What kind of person is this Jean?" He asked – if he was to live in the man's house, then he'd at least like to know if he was alright or if he was a bastard – after all, Norman had just said that … after his dad's death he'd never been quite the same, and that could mean anything. And why would someone go nuts because of his father's death anyway? Any father would die at one or another point and mostly before their sons did._

 _"Well, Jean is alright." Norman laughed. "He's a young fellow, twenty-six now, and he'll most likely be more scared of you than you of him. You know, five years ago he's been missing for two month, has been kidnaped by the Hudsons, and after his father had finally learned of his whereabouts, namely over there at the upper slopes of Devil's Peak, he'd gone there to get the boy home – and he'd died in the attempt. He'd freed the boy, but he'd been killed in the attempt, and Jean has never forgiven himself for getting his father killed. He's blaming himself ever since, and he'd never allowed anyone close ever since. He just lives his life out there, alone …"_

 **End flashback**

Alone, as if he had waited …

As if he had waited … for him …

Jean …

Joshua …

Jean …

And then he sighed with relief the moment he realized – he _had_ found Joshua. Somehow, in some strange way he actually _had_ found him, and slowly he regained his always present self-control and calmly he took two more steps towards the other, lowering his head to the left a bit while his harsh eyes went soft.

"You are … Mr. Jean McIory?" He once more asked with a soft and calm voice and the young man finally nodded, slowly, and still confused. "It really hasn't been my intention startling you, Mr. McIory." He then said, giving away a curt nod himself. "My name is Dunstan. I am looking for a small apartment and Norman Kenneth told me you had one."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

Slowly Jean McIory nodded.

Of course. He had forgotten about that. Norman had told him that one of his mechanics was looking for an abode and with his hand he pointed at the empty chair that stood at the other side of the table, inviting the stranger to sit down and the tall and dark man stepped closer.

Dunstan inclined his head in acceptance of the invitation, inwardly smiling at the gesture that again reminded him at Joshua, while McIory glanced back at him and then inclined his head to greet him, once more inviting him to take a seat and finally the man sat down into the empty chair. Just then the younger man pointed towards the mug of coffee that stood in front of him at the table.

"Coffee?" He just asked curtly.

Dunstan nodded.

He was shocked, he had to admit, unsure of how he should act in this most unfathomable situation one possibly could find himself in, and a cup of coffee hopefully _would_ help to calm his nerves a bit.

"A cup of coffee would be most welcomed, thank you." He therefore answered, glad that his voice despite his shock still sounded calm and collected.

McIory looked at him for another moment and then got off the armchair he had been sitting in, without another word, and taking his mug the young man went into the house.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

While he took a second cup from the board over the sink and poured coffee in both cups he thought over the question the stranger had asked of him.

He had thought over it earlier, when Norman had told him about the mechanic that was looking for an abode, and he had been unsure of what he should be doing.

But now, why shouldn't he allow this stranger to move in? He liked his facial appearance, he liked his eyes, and his voice – everything about that man reminded him at his dad. Those dark, black eyes, the deep and velvet voice, those harsh lines in the older man's face, hell, _the entire man_ reminded him at his dad.

So, why not?

And hadn't Jesus been here, just days ago, and telling him that he'd put someone at his side? Not that he'd believe in Jesus or God, but if such a person existed, then surely it had been that guy who'd visited him just a few days ago.

 **Flashback**

 _Slowly and with light steps a person strode out of the shadows the trees cast in the morning sun over the meadow behind the veranda and confused Jean lowered his head to one side, squinting his eyes to see a bit better in the blinding light of the still rising sun, while the person slowly, and with carefree and light steps walked over the grassland, walked over to him._

 _It was a man in his mid-ages maybe, whose long, black, in the morning sun shimmering hair moved gently in the soft breeze, dressed in blue Jeans and a brown shirt which caused an eerie effect to the guy, even though he couldn't put a finger to it, couldn't really tell why it would be so strangely eerie – it just was so, as if the picture would be wrong, somehow, and yet it was so perfect. The man's face seemed firm and demanding, severe and yet kind and soft at the same time, and upon coming closer, Jean recognized him at once, even though he'd never before seen that man – even though he didn't really believe in his existence._

 _It was Jesus._

 _His_ _way of walking, his clothes, plain and yet so fitting, his facial expression, and the piercing dark, brown eyes, severe and yet joyful, it only could be Jesus, even though he'd never before seen the man, it was his entire presence that named him Jesus._

 _And yet, why would Jesus come to him? To him of all people?_

 _He never went to church, he never went to any kind of sermon or the prayers they held over there in New Heaven's Valley. So, why would Jesus come to him, of all people, and how on earth, did he know that it was Jesus in the first place? And then the strange young man entered the veranda behind the house, just like that and without asking for permission first, his steps sure and unfaltering._

 _"It is not your time yet, Jean McIory, you have yet some work to do, here." The smile on Jesus' face seemed to become sad for a moment, while the fire in those dark eyes seemed to deepen with the request, with the demand. "There will be someone needing help and I have decided to place you at his side."_

 **End flashback**

Slowly he went back to the veranda, both cups in his hands.

He hadn't brought milk or sugar.

Even if this Dunstan guy maybe would need milk and sugar in his coffee, he himself drank his coffee black and therefore he simply hadn't thought of it, simply didn't even have milk or sugar in his household.

Too long hadn't he had any visitors and therefore he didn't care about courtesy or discourtesy of a host. Not to mention that he hadn't invited this Dunstan in the first place.

Well, yes, somehow he had, he had told Norman that this guy could come and then they would see, even though he didn't know why he had said yes to Norman in the first place. But he hadn't invited him for a nice afternoon coffee klatch after all.

He placed one of the mugs at the table in front of the other man and keeping his own in his hands he sat down back into his chair, waiting, watching the stranger.

A few moments there was silence between the two, but then the guy who looked into his eyes openly with his black ones inclined his head.

"Well." The stranger finally started. "Some days ago I have told Norman Kenneth about my need of a different abode. It is too cramped and too dirty in the motel and there are too many people living close by in New Heaven's Valley, even though it is a small valley only. I rather like living in solitary. And now Norman informed me that you are living alone here and that maybe you had a small apartment."

Again Jean nodded, somehow mesmerized by the deep voice of the other man that perfectly matched his dark and harsh appearance, a voice that – even though the guy had spoken very softly – had been heard and understood clearly and without any troubles, a voice that had expressed some sureness that was startling. It was demanding somehow and he actually felt the urge to follow it without being able to withstand. _And_ he could understand what the stranger meant. It had been the reason as to why his dad and he had built this house here, out of town. But otherwise he didn't ask questions, just sat there and watched him with his serious and questioning dark eyes.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

"Well, Mr. McIory." The man finally continued. "I would like to rent the apartment. That is, if you would allow me. I have a job and I can afford paying it, I am no messy person and I neither drink nor do I smoke and therefore I am sure I won't disturb …"

Dunstan trailed off when McIory quietly started chuckling, and he looked at the younger man with a scowl before he realized that his dark look surely wouldn't help the situation.

Of course Jean had noticed the disapproving gaze the man had thrown towards him and his gaze, too, darkened for a split second. But then he sighed and pointed at the package of cigarettes that lay at the table in front of him. He was a smoker himself and he wouldn't be bothered.

It just was – well, he would rent out an apartment to him.

The problem was – he didn't have one.

His dad and he …

Well, they had lived here together, they had shared this house and therefore – this guy as well would have to live together with him here in this house and he didn't know if he would be ready for _that_ , for living together with a stranger, with someone he didn't know.

But then …

"I fear that Norman didn't … express himself clearly." He finally said with a serious voice while he took a cigarette from the package and lightened it, watching the other one closely. "I don't have an apartment. I just have this house where you could have a bedroom. Aside from that … well, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room and such … you could co-use them, what is there at least, except of my bedroom and my study of course. You could use the cellar as well as the attic and the garden. I don't have the right touch with that anyway. Whatever I plant, it dies within the shortest time possible. That's all I can offer, nothing else, just the sharing of the house and grounds."

"Wouldn't that bother you? You do not know me after all." Dunstan asked, watching McIory closely.

McIory definitely looked tired and anything than relaxed, and in the pale face he could see the lines of a harsh life and for a moment he wondered what had caused them. The dark eyes seemed to be calm, and nevertheless he could see the storm raging behind this calmness he displayed.

For a moment he started to get worried when there was no answer while the young man opposite him seemed to consider his question, but then finally McIory shook his head, grasping the mug and taking a sip of his black coffee.

"If it doesn't bother you that I _do_ smoke and listen to loud music from time to time." He then said. "And that I actually _am_ a chaotic person. I only can warn you, there could be times during which I'm not easy to handle. I'm strange. That's at least what people say."

Dunstan couldn't help smirking.

Joshua's room as well had been a chaos and wherever Joshua had been, there too chaos had ruled. Joshua's entire life had been chaos, had been a mess, and somehow he had cleaned up after his younger friend, had cleaned up the mess and chaos Joshua always had managed for years. So he was used to it.

"It won't bother me." He then answered. "And I do not care about what people say. I prefer forming a view of myself. However, are you absolutely sure about that, Mr. McIory? As you have warned me, I should show the same courtesy towards you. I too am not the most pleasant person. I can be very nasty, that at least it is what people say about me."

Once more McIory looked at him, seemed to think over his words, but then he nodded. "I too prefer forming a view of myself, and I don't care about what people say." And just then the young man extended his hand towards the house. "Feel like home." He then added, calmly, as if he had just invited his best friend to use his kitchen to get a glass of water instead of a stranger to live in his entire house.

Dunstan sat there for a moment, frozen, watching the young man with a startled gaze.

That couldn't be true.

McIory didn't know him, had only seen him for a few minutes, had only exchanged a few words with him, and he just informed him so invitingly that he should feel like home? Never before had he experienced something like that, not even something _akin_ to that, hadn't even _heard_ of something like that, and he wondered what might have caused McIory to decide inviting him into his house like that. Not even into an apartment, but into his house, to _live_ there.

"What do you want to have for it?" He finally asked after he had gotten over his first shock.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

Jean watched the stranger as if he were stuck by lightning. He hadn't thought about that – but then he just shrugged his shoulders.

The young man pulled a key from his pockets, and after watching him, Dunstan, for a moment, fixing his green eyes absent-mindedly at the keys he was holding in his hand, he reached both keys that – and he was sure about that – had once belonged to his father, towards him.

"One is for the house." He heard him saying softly. "And one is for the garage." The young man then added.

Dunstan furrowed his brows, nearly frozen while watching McIory with a clearly shocked face, before he slowly shook his head, confused.

"Wait a moment, McIory." He softly said, nearly whispered. "You still didn't tell me what you …"

But once again McIory lifted his hand, cut him off and shook his head – and he, Dunstan, he was too shocked still, to feeling offended by the much younger man cutting him off. Really, McIory was twenty years his junior! Joshua had been ten years younger than he had been and some people had said that their friendship had been strange, but McIory – McIory was twenty-six, and therefore twenty years his junior.

"This is unacceptable, Mr. McIory, you cannot …" Dunstan once more tried to say something, but again he was cut off by McIory who simply waved off his comment.

A third time Dunstan opened his mouth to say something, already getting irritated at the boy's insolence, tried to say something, but McIory didn't even listen anymore. He took his mug, took another sip of the coffee and then he took a cigarette from the package, got off his chair.

"I can and I will." The young man finally said and his voice nearly sounded angry. "This house is large enough. There will be enough space for both of us. You need a stay and I have too much space for one person alone to begin with. It's my house and therefore I can do with it as I please and I want you living here as long as you wish. And I don't want to have anything for it. That is my last word and my name is Jean."

Without giving Dunstan the opportunity or time to answer anything to that McIory turned and went back into the building, left the older man sitting behind on the veranda, alone with his thoughts.

He was sitting there for a few minutes, still absolutely stunned, shocked.

He really should have known it. He _should_ … have _known_ it!

Because it had been the same reaction Joshua, too, would have shown. Joshua, too, had never accepted anything for the help he had offered. Joshua, too, would have given the shirt on his back without hesitating for just a split second if it were necessary, without even thinking for the tiniest second of the consequences for himself.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

He had done his paper work, had filled out several charts, and he'd prepared the medications which were needed for the day. Other than that he'd been going through the papers of the ward, and he'd – mentally – gone over the children which were residing here at the moment. And everything seemed to be alright – at least as alright as it could be in a hospital – and so he left his office, left _'his'_ ward, and left the hospital, went home. He didn't even bother with changing clothes but simply stumbled to his car, praying to God that he wouldn't fall asleep while driving home, and then he started the engine, locked the gear, ready to go home and lay in his bed for the next seventy-two hours – which wouldn't be possible anyway as in barely twelve hours his next shift would start.

He'd use the time to sleep for a few hours, and then he'd eat at the snack stand – his favourite place in times like this as it was easier eating there on his way back to hospital than taking the time to cook at home. Not to mention that it was better than the food the hospital provided, really.

Well, and then he would be back at the hospital, desperately trying to get Hereweald to going home – or rather to the motel he was living in during the summer holidays instead of taking a short nap at a sofa in the hall of the ward.

He didn't understand that man.

Hereweald Hrothgar was no poor man.

Not only did Hereweald earn a lot – and really a lot – of money up there at this school where he was a house-teacher, a boarding school for the rich that were unable, or unwilling, raising their children themselves. But also – he knew of the Hrothgar imperium.

Asger Hrothgar, a man that just a few months ago had died, had been one of the richest people on this earth – and the founder of Hrothgar Enterprises, an imperium consisting in several banks, companies and hotels, and he knew that Asger Hrothgar was Hereweald's father. So … for Hereweald it would be easy to claim his heritage – and he knew that the man knew about his father's death as just a few weeks ago he'd, jokingly, asked him if he wouldn't visit Tonopah and his father during the summer holidays instead of working at the hospital, even though he'd very well known that the stubborn man hadn't been at home since he'd left there with seventeen years, in other words about thirty years or something like that ago, and Hereweald's answer had been that – no, he wouldn't visit Tonopah, and his father had died just some time ago, anyway.

Of course he'd asked him if he wouldn't go to settle his matters, to claim his heritage – there hadn't been an answer to that except of the idiot man glaring at him with his very best Hrothgar-glare.

Turning his Cherokee uphill towards the small clearing where his hut was built halfway into the woods, he gave a short thanks to God for getting him home, safely. He rolled into his front yard, turned off the engine, left the car, and stumbling into the house he didn't even bother with undressing. He fell into his bed and was almost immediately asleep.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Michael**

"They're not prepared." Michael said, his voice hard and his eyes harsh.

"No one will be ready for the Lord." Gabriel answered. "They're human, and they'll always live with one thing or another that makes them caught unprepared. They're weak in heart and mind – they're human."

"There was one human who was prepared, who'd showed them how to go." He shook his head, not ready to give in so easily. They might be men – but they were creatures of God, and could they not give more than that?

"He was the Son of God himself." Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. "Don't be so harsh with them, my old friend."

"He'd come to earth as a man." He sighed. "Born of a mortal woman."

"Anyway, he's the Son of God himself." Gabriel insisted. "It is easier for a man who had known his father all his life, to follow him, than for a man who hadn't known his father, but has grown up with his mother after they had divorced."

"You truly love them, don't you?" He asked, eyeing the Lord's messenger with narrowed eyes.

"I do." Gabriel answered and he took a deep breath.

He'd accompanied Gabriel and Angus on their ride today – and he had to admit that, yes, that boy was one of the very few who were close to being prepared for their Lord … and yes, it was fun, riding the bike, too.

For a moment he'd even considered meeting Satan's forces on the bike, just for the funny part of it, but then – he'd quickly discarded the thought, because the moment they met Satan's forces, there would be nothing funny in it, and they'd need all their power without having to manoeuvre a bike – and without giving the demons ideas either.

And something would happen – and it would happen soon, Angus had seen it, and the child had been correct in that.

"Something's going to happen." The boy had said, after climbing off Gabriel's bike, just before going back to the house after they'd brought him home, and it hadn't been a question, it had been a statement.

He also had to admit that – it's been refreshing, being with that child – the boy was surprisingly intelligent for his age. He was surprisingly natural and forthright – and he was, contrary to a lot of other people, walking together with God, not just beside him in some distance. Yes, Gabriel was correct, and this particular boy would indeed be a great warrior of God one day – even though for now, he was just God's little warrior, he couldn't help thinking with some amusement.

"Yes." Gabriel had answered, calmly, as if it were a normal thing, talking with a small child about such – and in his humble opinion, Angus was a small child. The boy was eleven, sure, but what were eleven years compared to the several thousands of years his own age?

"And it's going to happen soon." Angus had said, just as calmly as before, as if it weren't something worrisome, as if that weren't something that was scary for a boy his age.

"Yes." He'd simply answered, knowing that of all those people on this earth, Angus would be one of the few who'd understand the truth, who'd prefer the truth even, instead of a lie that would comfort him momentarily only.

"And it's going to be something bad." Angus then had said – again, for the third time, he'd stated it instead of asking, looking to the north, towards Mount Cheyenne.

"Perhaps." He'd answered, his dark eyes locking with the blue eyes of the child, and he could read no fear in them but the knowledge that never mind what, God would be with him. "Not even we know about the future and anything could happen – or nothing – that depends on God's plans, which we don't know."

"Then you're not wiser than we are." The boy had gasped out, finally startled, his eyes large, and for a moment he wondered how it had to be for a child – knowing about them being angels, arch angels even, and then realizing that they didn't know all about God's plans.

"I guess that, after several thousand years, we know one thing or another when it comes to our Lord." He'd smiled at the boy. "But no, not even we are all-knowing. Only God is."

"That's omniscient." The boy had said, looking at him seriously. "And God's omnipotent, and omnipresent, too."

"That he is, indeed." He'd laughed. "You have paid good attention in Sunday school, child."

Yes – if there was someone on this earth who was close to being prepared for their Lord, then it was this particular child.

"It starts." Gabriel softly said and he turned, looking away from the small valley and over to the wooded area of Mount Cheyenne, towards the spot where the first small flame was sparking with life, a small flame, seemingly caused by the heat – but he knew … it had been a shadow who'd started the small flame, it had been a shadow, a demon of Satan, who'd started a burning fire that would consume all life, that would consume all hope, that would spread death and desperation only.

"And thus it starts." He agreed, inclining his head.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Victor Almond**

"Good morning, Walter." Victor smiled when seeing the boy coming in. "You need some sausages for your dog, again?"

He liked the boy. Not only did he have manners, but also did he care for his dog very well.

"Sure." The child answered, and he smiled, packing a few sausages into a paper.

"How are you, today?" He asked, packing a few bones, too.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir." The boy politely answered. "I hope you're alright, sir?"

"Thanks." He laughed. "I have no reason to complain. How's your uncle?"

"He's alright, thanks." The boy answered, a little bit more hesitant, and he grinned. Surely it wasn't easy to speak with a stranger about his uncle, and surely the boy didn't know what to say.

"Who's your uncle, by the way?" He then asked, frowning, because he'd never asked that, and suddenly he wondered, why.

"Uhm – well … it's … it's Mr. Chandler." The boy then said, and now he really frowned at the boy.

"Cameron Chandler?" He asked, shaking his head. "I didn't know that Jethro had a boy." And he was sure that he didn't. Jethro didn't have any child at all – and any child being with that old crank could only be pitied.

"No, sir." The boy said, quickly shaking his head. Mr. Jethro Chandler is my uncle."

"Jethro?" He said, even more confused than before, because – that would mean that the boy was either Cameron's son, which he very much doubted as he knew that Cameron didn't have children either, or that he was Julien's child – which was impossible too, as he'd be Mary-Anne's brother then, and Emily had given birth to one child only.

"What's your father's name, Walter?" He asked the boy, looking up – just to realize that the boy had already left – well, he guessed that he'd been thinking about that for a little bit too long, boring the boy with his own thoughts, causing him to leave.

He'd ask him tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow when he came back again.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter nine: … the butcher, the Indian and the pastor …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	9. the unseen war

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"Who's your uncle, by the way?" He then asked, frowning, because he'd never asked that, and suddenly he wondered, why._

 _"Uhm – well … it's … it's Mr. Chandler." The boy then said. And now he really frowned at the boy._

 _"Cameron Chandler?" He asked, shaking his head. "I didn't know that Jethro had a boy." And he was sure that he didn't. Jethro didn't have any child at all – and any child being with that old crank could only be pitied._

 _"No, sir." The boy said, quickly shaking his head. Mr. Jethro Chandler is my uncle."_

 _"Jethro?" He said, even more confused than before, because – that would mean that the boy was either Cameron's son, which he very much doubted as he knew that Cameron didn't have children either, or that he was Julien's child – which was impossible either, as he'd be Mary-Anne's brother then, and Emily had given birth to one child only._

 _"What's your father's name, Walter?" He asked the boy, looking up – just to realize that the boy had already left – well, he guessed that he'd been thinking about that for a little bit too long, boring the boy with his own thoughts, causing him to leave._

 _He'd ask him tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow when he'd come back._

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter nine – the unseen war**

 **Or – the tension's building …**

 **July 19th 1939, Wednesday noon – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Jethro Chandler**

"Jethro!" Victor called out the moment he entered, frowning at him. "Forgot something?"

"Need six steaks and two sausages." He shook his head. He hadn't forgotten anything – Emily had just invited him and Cameron for barbeque – and he'd insisted on bringing the food … steaks – and sausages for the girl that didn't like steaks. Emily had enough to pay for Mary-Anne and herself with too little money since Julien had died, and there was no need for the woman to pay for him and Cameron, too, feeding two grown men.

They'd had a quarrel about who'd pay the steaks, but he'd won and Cameron would have to content himself with buying the drinks, while Emily would make salad – he'd never admit it, but no one made potato salad as good as Emily's.

"Why didn't you ask your nephew to bring them?" Victor asked, laughing. "He's left just half an hour ago with the sausages for his dog."

"My nephew?" He asked, frowning. "What nephew?"

"Your nephew … uhm … Walter?" Victor asked, blinking at him and shaking his head. "He's living with you during the summer holidays – really, Jethro, you should know who's living in your house."

"I don't know whom you're speaking of, Victor." He said, his eyes narrowed at the butcher. "I have a niece with the name of Mary-Anne, but no nephew and I should know."

"But –" The man now said, shaking his head, too. "But what's with the boy who's coming to visit? Walter? The boy who's getting sausages for his dog once or twice a week? He's been here during the summer holidays last year, too."

"And what on earth would make you believing he's my nephew?" He asked.

"He's told me." Walter shrugged his shoulders. "Just this morning – he's living with you during the summer holidays. I've already wondered which brother of you'd be his father, but he'd been gone before I could ask that."

"That explains some things." He slowly said, thinking, because –

If this boy was here during the summer holidays, only, then it would explain why only during the summer holidays small things were taken. And if this boy was here during the summer holidays, needing an excuse concerning his whereabouts, then clearly he was sleeping in a barn, between the rocks or he'd built his nest in any other corner or pitch – and therefore it was clear that it was this boy, who was stealing food and other small items he needed for survival – and in this case he was sure that the boy was from Hathaway, too.

But why would he refuse going home during the summer holidays?

Surely a child of the rich would be looking forwards to going home and travelling the world, visiting parks, or getting toys and the best food – visiting grandparents and getting a pocket money of a sum similar to his monthly wages – not to mention anything else he liked. Why would a boy live on the streets rather than …

"Jethro …" Victor's voice got him out of his thoughts, the man looking past him at the entrance door and the shop windows, entranced, as if in shock, and turning he gasped at seeing the fine rising of smoke over the wooded area of Mount Cheyenne.

"Forget the steaks – call the department, tell them there's fire on Mount Cheyenne." He just called out, already leaving the butchery.

At the door of the shop he stopped for a split second, scanning the area with his eyes and realizing that it was the south-west side of Mount Cheyenne that was burning, the area that held the thickest undergrowth, and with the soft wind that went northwards – Mount Eagle, too, would be burning, soon – plus considering the dry earth, the fire would spread quickly, entering the small valley.

And no cloud was in the sky.

Quickly he got himself out of his shock and ran along Main Avenue. He'd come without his car, his house being just down the next crossroad, and he'd not expected a fire.

Sure, the weather was hot and dry, and there had been a small fire here or there over Devil's Peak or Great Thunderbolt – but a fire over Mount Cheyenne with its conifer forest, and after every plant was dried out, it meant that hell would break lose, because Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle – both mountains being close by – were the only two mountains which were densely wooded mountains, their brushwood thick and dry. It would be difficult getting a wildfire under control within these areas, and if one was burning, the other would, too – and if wildfire was spreading there, over the forest aisle between the two mountains, then it would spread over to the houses in the valley.

Turning into Bitternut Hickory Trail he turned left and ran along the road.

But well – his people were well trained, and the moment he turned right into Black Ash-Tree Lane, he could already hear the bells from the fire department.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

"Not that, Lord, please." He gasped when looking out of the window, and for a moment his lungs refused working, but then he gathered a few things which were just too important to him for being consumed by the flames – the pipe from his grandfather, the backpack with his bible and a few other things he used to take to church on Sundays, and the blanket his grandmother had been weaving so many decades ago, the blue and red Indian patterns on the beige fabric already fading with age – and he knew that anything else, his hut included, would be destroyed by the flames if they forced their way through the passage between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, because his hut was built into the wooded area at the foot of Mount Eagle, close to the roots of Mount Cheyenne. It nearly lay in the passageway the fire would take.

He also threw his medic pack and the emergency box at the loading dock of his pick-up, knowing he'd need them, and then he didn't hesitate leaving the house and anything else behind, the smell of fire already lingering in the hot air, and getting into the car he already could hear the bells from the fire department, knowing that Jethro Chandler and his men were at work, and he hasted towards the church where soon his presence would be needed.

He'd just prepared for going to bed, finally.

He'd been laying down already, enjoying the soft pillow and the light blanket, closing his eyes with a sigh of content – and he'd already been drifting off into sleep, into the sweet lands of dreaming, he'd already seen the wild mustangs riding over the prairie, wild and free, strong, and he'd known that this had been the life of his ancestors. He didn't know much about that life now.

He'd kept his Cheyenne name, he was fluent in speaking Cheyenne, and he was able riding a horse. He could make fire and just like his ancestors he went fishing, went deer hunting, preserved food, and dried meat – but that was all that was left from the oh so heroic Indian life-style.

However, he'd barely been asleep when he'd had the feeling that there was something wrong.

It wasn't that he'd heard the soft sizzling and crackling noise of the flames, nor had he smelled the smoke of the fire – no, it's just been a feeling that had crept into his dreams, disturbing him, urging him to wake up – unregarding his tiredness – and with a groan he'd opened his eyes, had sat up in his bed – still tired, of course … and now, while driving over to the church he would refunction as an improvised hospital – just in case – he knew that it had been God who'd woken him, not only so that he wouldn't die in the flames, but that he could be prepared and of help the moment any injured might arrive – which he didn't hope, however.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Cole Benson**

"McIory." Cole heard Jean answering the phone and he took a deep breath, glad that the other was at home.

"Hi Jean." He said. "There's something wrong with my car, and Norman has absolutely no time left for anything – he's told me to call you."

"What's the problem?" Jean asked and he sighed with relief – apparently Jean did have a good day or he would've said something like _'and that would be my problem – why?'_.

"There's a small control lamp burning, just above the steering wheel on the dash panel." He said. "It's blinking orange."

"Oh, it's just the engine lamp." Jean answered and again he sighed with relief – the man knew what it was, that was good and hopefully Jean could repair it, and quickly. It was his patrol car, after all. "Just ignore it."

"Ig- … just what? Ignore it?" He gasped out. "Surely an engine warning lamp shouldn't be ignored."

"Yeah, just ignore it." Jean repeated, and he frowned. "It's nothing that will kill your car right away, don't worry. It's like your wife calling that dinner's ready – she's calling half an hour before the food is on the table, just so that you'll have half an hour to get off your work and into the house. If you answer the call right away, you'll just have to wait for half an hour!"

"But it's unnerving." He shook his head.

"Then stick a plaster over it." Jean said, and now he … that …

"Stick … plaster … that … that's your solution?" He gasped out.

"Sure – ignore it, and if you can't, then put a plaster over it." Jean said, again.

The bells from the fire department made him turning, looking towards the door, and just a moment later his deputy stuck his head into his office with the words "fire – there's fire over Mount Cheyenne" and he knew what that meant.

"Never mind that control lamp now, there's fire over Mount Cheyenne." He said into the receiver. "Get over here and see if Jethro needs a good mechanic for his fire trucks – or whatever else they could need."

"I'll be over in a moment." Jean said, and – and not for the first time, today – he frowned, because he'd rather guessed the man would say something like _'you can kiss my backside'_ , _'go to hell'_ or something like that – and no, Jean McIory was no one like Odhran Uí Domhnalláin, the man being a real master when it came to the Irish diplomacy, being able to tell a man to go to hell in a way so that he looks forward to making the trip … no, Jean McIory would just say _'go to hell'_ and then turn, leaving the other standing where he stood. But no, not this time, this time he'd come, and that was something good, because he knew that Jean McIory was the best when it came to car crashes, to any technical things, or to catastrophes – and he guessed that he'd be of need here, too.

Well, he'd wonder about that miracle later, because for now, he would need making sure that everything was alright.

The sound of the fire bells was nothing new for the people living in New Heaven's Valley, but he knew that fire over Mount Cheyenne was something people would worry about. They'd be in panic the moment they realized what would happen – alright, maybe they wouldn't be in panic, but at least they'd be scared and he knew that he'd have all hands full with calming them and making sure that none of them did something stupid. It was a small town only, and he knew each person in this small valley – just as people knew him – and that meant, he had to visit them, he had to look after them, and he had to talk to them – that was the least he could do.

Taking his cap he left his office, telling his deputy to call him if need be, that he'd go to the church first and then visiting the several shops. He'd go by foot on a sunny day like that instead of taking his car, but today he knew that maybe he'd have to go from one place to the other quickly – so, he'd take his car, hoping that Jean was correct, that the blinking lamp wasn't important.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Walter Sherman**

"In every land, hardness is in the north of it, softness in the south, industry in the east, and fire and inspiration in the west."

Looking up from his book he frowned, thinking about the saying.

Why had God made the lands like that? Was it even true?

In his mind he went over the countries he knew. The states – well, North America definitely was a harsher land than South America, as far as he knew. And in the east was the industry while in the west was the fire, at least if he thought of gun fire.

England – well, there was Scotland and the Highlands in the north, and surely they had to be harsh. He didn't really know about eastern or southern England, but surely in Wales were fiery people.

Frowning he tried to remember what Eckbrecht Oswald had told him about Germany – and even though no one knew where exactly the history and geography teacher came from, he was sure that he came from there, because he always told a lot of stories about Germany, and his name sounded very much like a German name, too, in his opinion, even though he wasn't really sure what German names generally sounded like. But it could be, couldn't it?

Shaking his head, he definitely didn't remember what Oswald had told them about Germany.

But well, he definitely could say that yes the fire was in the west of the states. And … for a moment he giggled when smelling fire, because it really was funny sometimes. Did you ever think of vanilla ice cream and then you couldn't get rid of the smell of vanilla? Or the smell of mushroom soup – which he didn't like one bit – and quickly he thought about something else.

Well, and then there was France, and he was sure that there it was the same, because Frogman was there during his holidays, and he'd told them that it was a beautiful land with mountains in the north and the warm coast in the south. And concerning Europe itself, it was the same, too, because in the north was Norway, a rather harsh country, he was sure, and in the south were countries like France, Spain and Italy.

Frowning he thought that surely there was fire in the south, then, too.

Sniffing he sat up and looked around, frowning, because the smell of fire was getting more intense now, and he looked down at the houses of New Heaven's Valley – but there was nothing, and turning he … he gasped when seeing the fire over Mount Cheyenne, the flames spreading along the hilltop into the direction of Mount Eagle, coming closer, and closer to the other mountain, and for a moment he wondered if –

Mount Eagle!

This Conner boy and his friend!

Turning away from the picture he raced down the roof from the lawyer's house, climbed onto the roof of the school and from there onto a balcony, and then he slid down the fire-ladder – because he had to inform someone of the two boys being up there, climbing, and quickly so or they'd be caught by the flames.

"Sheriff! Sir!" He called out the moment he saw the black-and-white coming down the road, and he waved his arms, causing the man to stop. "There are two boys up Mount Eagle." He said without a greeting and without waiting for the guardian of the law to ask questions. "Conner and his friend, they're up Mount Eagle, climbing."

"Are you sure, boy?" The man asked, piercing him with his eyes, and quickly he nodded his head.

"I've seen them getting up there this morning, and they haven't come down since." He said, sure that he was right.

"Alright, go home, boy." The sheriff said, and he shook his head. Didn't the man understand that they'd be caught in the fire if the flames went over to Mount Eagle? Because surely that was possible, wasn't it?

"But, sir …" He started, trying to make the man seeing sense.

"Go home, boy." The sheriff repeated, more insistent, clearly giving him an order. "This is neither the place nor the time for you to play on the streets. Go home and listen to your family."

And gone was the man, driving further down the street, and with a frustrated sigh he turned, going back to his roof – just before he shook his head and ran into a side street and then into the direction of Mount Eagle. If the sheriff wouldn't do something to save the two boys, then _he_ would, because never mind what, he just couldn't sit there and wait!

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Conner and Bradyn**

"Better?" He asked, coughing, looking around – and he had to admit that … he was scared.

In the beginning they hadn't cared about the smoke they'd seen over Mount Cheyenne. It wasn't the first time that there was a small fire here or there over the mountains during the hot summer months, but then there had been flames, and the flames had become a really big fire and now all of Mount Cheyenne stood in flames – in flames which were coming closer. They'd spread over to Mount Eagle on the western side of the Mountain, and then they'd spread over to the eastern side and the densely wooded area, too.

"I can't walk with that, and I guess I've broken my hand, too." Bradyn said, and desperately he looked for a solution.

They'd made good way during the morning hours, and at ten they'd reached the sea of rocks that led to the face of Mount Eagle. They'd made a pause for an hour, had eaten a few apples, and then they'd started climbing the boulders which hadn't been easy as they were really large boulders, most of them being their own height, but an hour later, shortly before noon, they'd reached the face of the mountain, looking for a way uphill.

They'd seen the smoke then, but they hadn't cared and had gone on to the side where the Mountain turned eastwards. It's been too late when they'd realized that it's been a real fire, a wildfire, and quickly they'd started climbing back down the boulders, knowing that they best left the mountain – and then Bradyn had fallen, and had broken his leg – and only God knew what else – in a really bad way.

He'd tried to wake Bradyn, but then he'd taken the other boy's backpack, had searched for the first aid kit, and then he'd stabilized the boy's leg to the best of his knowledge and ability.

"You know what?" Bradyn asked and he looked over at the other boy's pale face. "You go back down and get help, I'll wait here."

"I won't do that!" He called out, desperately. "I won't just leave you back! If the fire comes here, you'll be helpless!"

"That won't change with you being here either." Bradyn said. "But if you go back for help, then we'll have at least a chance! And now go!"

"You can't just give orders!" He called out. "I just won't go alone and leave you here!"

"I can!" Bradyn said, and silently he had to admit that his cousin was right, because he was the older of the two. "And I do."

"I don't care about that!" He answered, desperately. "I just won't go!"

"I'll tell mom if you don't." Bradyn said.

"You think I care about that?" He asked, back. "We're in for that anyway. And I won't go back alone."

"Listen, Conner." Bradyn sighed, running his good hand over his face. "Just listen. If you stay with me, then we'll both die here because no one knows that we're here. But if you go back and get help, then someone can come and get us back safely. Just like with Owen and Timmy. You think that little Timmy was happy with leaving Owen back there, alone? I guess not, but he did, and Owen could be saved."

"And he's still in hospital and no one knows if he'll survive." He argued.

"That might be – but he isn't dead yet. And now go!"

"Ok." He gave in. "But only after we've looked for a safe stay for you."

"There's no place where I'm safe from the fire." Bradyn said, and for a moment he thought the same, but then he shook his head.

"We'll look for a place, or I won't go!" He insisted, stubbornly. "There had been several caverns, we've passed them just a few minutes ago."

"Alright." His cousin sighed, trying to get up. "If that's the only way I get you to going back down, then let's go there."

It wasn't easy, helping his cousin down the way, over boulders along a narrow path, and it took them nearly an hour to reach the caverns which had been just minutes away, but the moment they were there he breathed a sigh of relief.

 _'Please, Lord, don't let a bear be in there, having the same idea and taking shelter from the fire.'_ He thought, hoping that God would listen to a prayer that wasn't spoken with audible words but in his mind only, while at the same time he didn't dare speaking his words aloud, not daring to scare Bradyn who would have to go in one of these caverns.

He helped his cousin to crawl into the narrow space.

"Get around that corner there, you'll be saver there." He said, spotting a sharp bend in the rocky formation, and he was relieved when the other boy did that. He left his backpack with Bradyn, and crawling back out of the cavern, he quickly made his way further downhill, over another layer of boulders, praying that Bradyn would be alright until he was back with an adult.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

"Any news?" Wohehiv asked when Cole came in.

He'd just arrived at the church the moment when Cole had come, too, and quickly he'd told him about his plans to turn the building into an improvised hospital, pushing his emergency box into the sheriff's arms while he took his backpack and the medic pack, carrying both into the house. Cole had nodded his head, telling him that he'd sent here whomever needed his help, and then the sheriff had left, patrolling the town, visiting shops, talking with the people and making sure that no panic attack would arise – and to send anyone to the church encase of an emergency.

"There's a boy, dunno who, haven't seen him here, ever." Cole said and he frowned, because the man had come alone. "He'd said that Conner and his friend – most likely, he'd actually meant, his cousin, Bradyn – were up Mount Eagle."

"Are you sure?" He asked, casting a short glance over at the area where he already could see smoke and flames coming from the western side of the mountain, knowing that the flames had spread over already – but if that was a joke only, and someone went up there into the hell that would break loose soon … unimaginable what could happen up there, but if the two boys really were there, on that mountain …

"Stay here." He said. "Gwyneth, Kayleigh and Rebecca are upstairs for help – and Caitlyn is there, too, she doesn't feel too well, but it's just the excitement."

"Where …" Cole asked, blinking at him.

"Up Mount Eagle." He said.

"You can't go up there." Cole shook his head. "There's already fire on the western side …"

"I know." He huffed. "But someone has to go and I know that mountain like the back of my hand. You stay here and care for anyone who comes here, doc sheriff." He added, laughing at the dumbfound face the man made.

He went into the Cherokee, threw the door close and then started the engine, because that would be the quickest way to get there. He put on the improvised siren, and then he raced along Butternut Path, turned into Black Willow Lane. When rounding the corner he stopped for a moment, looking up Mount Eagle, his heart standing still for a moment at seeing the fire racing along the ridge, by now, but then he put the pedal to the metal, inwardly cursing two particular boys, especially Bradyn McFlaherty whom he'd caught last year, already, when the boy had tried climbing up Mount Eagle.

He'd told him back then already that this particular Mountain was out of limits for the boy, but did they listen? No! They didn't! Of course they didn't! He hadn't been listening either when he'd been a boy back then, and he, too, had paid the prize for his reckless stunts he'd performed over and over again – it had cost a life, the life of his father who'd come to help when he'd needed help the most, and he'd never forgiven himself for being responsible for his father's death, because after the last chief had died the once proud tribe had fallen apart, and now only few Cheyenne were living in the reservations.

Passing the clearing and his hut he drove the Cherokee as far uphill as possible, all the while looking out for two boys on their way downhill, because up there hell had broken loose, meanwhile, and he was sure that they were on their way back down, already, and if not, then they were already in trouble, caught by the flames, but hopefully still alive.

He'd tell them a piece of his mind the moment he found them, that was for sure! He'd put both boys over his knees for a good spanking! He'd – closing his eyes for a moment he knew that he wouldn't do that. They were reckless, but they were children, and it was the privilege of the children to be reckless.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Morgan McFlaherty**

"Get out of here!" He called over the crackling noise of the flames, knowing that he had to get his men out of this fire-hell – alive if possible. "There's nothing left we can do here! The fire's closing in from all sides – get out of here, now!"

If only he could do something else than getting his men out of that fire-hell!

If only he could have kept the fire from spreading!

If only he'd paid … but he _had_ paid attention!

For heaven's sake! He _had_ paid attention back then!

 **Flashback**

 _"Wildfire differs from other fires by its extensive size, gentlemen, by the speed at which it spreads from its original source, its ability to unexpectedly chance direction, and its capacity to jump gaps such as roads, rivers and even fire breaks. They take place in woodlands, bushlands, grasslands, and any other areas that act as source of fuel, and buildings easily can get involved if a wildfire spreads to adjacent communities – would you please pay attention, Morgan and Leo?" The chief said and he rolled his eyes as – just because he was showing Leonard a picture of the girl he was after, didn't mean that he wouldn't pay attention. "New Heaven's Valley is such a community adjacent to areas where wildfire could occur, gentlemen, and it is your place to prevent such."_

 _"The only two places close by where a real wildfire could occur is over Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, and Mount Cheyenne has its wooded area only at the south-western side while Mount Eagle has its wooded area mainly at the north-eastern side." He answered back to the chief. Sure, the man might be his teacher, but that didn't mean that he was all-knowing._

 _"Well, Mr. McFlaherty." Jethro Chandler said, and with a whistle he leaned back in his chair because the man rarely called them by their surnames, and clearly not with a "Mr." added to that. "Let's have it played through. There's a fire over the south-western side of mount Cheyenne. It will soon change from being a ground fire that is fed by the subterranean roots and the dense brushwood to a ladder fire that consumes the conifer trees over there, material between low-level vegetation and tree canopies encouraging the fire to climb the trees. Now, what will happen next?"_

 _"That depends on daytime, temperatures, wind and if it's been raining." Leonard Henson said, grinning at him._

 _"Let's see – it's a hot summer day, just before noon, it hadn't been raining for weeks, and there's a gentle south-wind." Jethro said, leaning against the table. "Now, what will happen?"_

 _"The fire will easily go northwards." Mitchell said, concentrating. Mitchell Roberts was the only one who knew that he wouldn't become a firefighter. He'd already started an apprenticeship as a postman, but he wanted to help Monty, the local ranger, and for that he needed several ground courses in first aid, in fire prevention and in handling technical items such as winches and radio equipment. "The oil from the conifers will feed the fire, and soon it will climb the trees. The fire will then race along the passageway between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, reaching seven miles per hour. The air between those two mountains will be heated and create powerful updrafts that will draw in new and cooler air from surrounding areas in thermal columns – and fire winds and fire whirls will start, and even before the fire jumps over to the eastern trees of Mount Eagle, the first houses in the valley start burning."_

 _"Exactly." Jethro said. "At least there's one who's paying attention to what I try teaching you, and he's not even starting as a firefighter. Now – within the first hour of the wildfire it would have reached the passageway between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, and within another hour the wooded area of Mount Eagle would be in flames, too and there would be no chance of doing anything against it, as by that time the valley would be in flames, too, and any firefighter would be busy with trying to save the houses and the people within the valley if that would even be possible. My personal opinion is, that by the end of the day the valley would be reduced to ashes with a little more than a handful of survivors."_

 **End flashback**

Damn!

He _had_ been paying attention!

And he knew exactly what had been happening – over there at Mount Cheyenne the fire had been racing uphill as the fuels uphill were generally more dried and warmed by the fire below than those downhill – and then that damn fire had jumped over to Mount Eagle, because fire easily could jump over rivers and fire-breaks – so, of course it could jump over a narrow gap such as between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle.

Years ago Jethro had foreseen such a scenario, and he'd taken preparations, had built fire breaks between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, knowing that they wouldn't stop a wildfire from spreading into the valley and burning down the houses, but that they would at least slow it down – and so far it had worked. Before the fire had raced along the passageway it had started burning uphill, along the smaller wooded area on the western side of Mount Eagle, and he'd already thought that they'd get it under control.

Jethro had remained by the passageway together with Mitchell, Dewayne and Norman – and with Diesel whom he'd woken from his drunken stupor with more than just one cup of black, strong, coffee – and he'd gone up the wooded area of Mount Eagle together with Leonard, Edgar, Jean and Dunstan, that guy who was working at the garage and whom Jean had brought over, too, trying to get the fire over there under control by cutting down the top line of trees before it spread over to the eastern wooded area of the mount, the best place for them as there was little wood and therefore little food for the fire – and even if it went over to the eastern side, burning downhill would go slower and again, their chances of getting the fire under control, were better than in a worst-case scenario.

At least that had been their plans – which had gone pretty well – until several burning logs had rolled downhill the eastern side of Mount Eagle, igniting other trees on their way and now they had a nice wildfire burning uphill while at the same time Jethro and his team were trying to keep the fire from eating its way into the valley – and their only chance was to get back down, too, trying to help Jethro with keeping the valley safe instead of dying up here.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

He'd nearly reached the first boulders beneath the rock face of Mount Eagle, only half an hour left and he'd be there, and he had to admit that the boys had made good way.

Of course he could have passed them, accidentally, on his way uphill, but he'd seen a small footprint here and another small footprint there, both marks being from children, and so he knew that he was still on his right way after the two boys.

Voices from people calling made him stop, and looking over he recognized some firefighters coming downhill, fighting their way through the flames which were starting to spread here, too, burning branches and other parts falling down around them from the trees uphill.

"What are you doing up here, Wohehiv?" Morgan McFlaherty called over the flames.

"There're two children up there." He called back, advisedly keeping the children's names back, seeing hat one of the children was Morgan's son, who had better getting his men down from that mountain safely than worrying over his wayward son.

He could see the man hesitating for a moment, and he used that moment of hesitation to usher him down.

"Go and get your men out of here." He shook his head before the man could give back an answer. "I know this mountain better than you and I'll get the children."

"I'll come with you." Jean McIory called, and for a moment he considered refusing, but then he inclined his head, because he knew that if anyone could go through this fire-hell, and getting out of it alive, then it would be McIory.

That man was strange, but he was good.

"You can't go up there, McIory." Morgan called, reaching out his hand as if to stop the other man. "I need to get all of you back down safely."

"I'm a civilian, and you're not responsible for my person, McFlaherty, you can't tell me anything." McIory gave back and he grinned. "As is the Indian. We'll go and find those two children."

"Shall I come with you?" The Dunstan guy asked, taking hold at McIory's upper arm, and for a moment McIory looked at the hand grabbing him, then at the man belonging to the hand, but then he grinned, shaking his head.

"Nope." Was his answer. "You make sure that they get down safely."

Morgan inclined his head, curtly, most likely having expected that reaction, but he also knew that he'd had to say it, hoping that McIory would disobey anyway, and without hesitation he went on, fighting his way uphill, McIory following him.

"There are strange creatures up there." McIory called while falling into step with him and he nodded his head.

"I've seen them." He answered. "They're demons, Satan's creatures."

"Satan's creatures." McIory huffed. "I don't know what they are, but Satan's creatures? Really!"

"If you believe that they are creatures, what you clearly do as you're not calling them men but strange creatures which you're not trying to save from the flames, then why not believing that they could be Satan's creatures?"

"Dunno." The man called over the flames' noise, shrugging his shoulders. "But Satan's creatures?"

"Why ever not?"

"If I believed that there's a creature called Satan, then I'd have to believe that there's someone called God, too." McIory shook his head.

"Why not doing that?" Wohehiv asked, quickly looking over at the man.

"Because I've never seen a miracle from him." The man huffed, sounding angry – or maybe rather, disappointed.

There was a drop of water touching his face and frowning he looked up, feeling another drop of water on his face, then a third, a fourth, and grinning he looked over at Jean McIory.

"No miracle, huh?" He asked, more and more drops coming down over them.

He was no firefighter, but he knew – even though it might not be enough to extinguish a wildfire, if God had sent this rain, then it would work anyway – and just a moment later there was a steady downpour of rain coming down on them.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Jethro Chandler**

Hoping that Morgan would get his men back down before they were surrounded by the fire, he took his field glasses and looked over the area of Mount Eagle, trying to make out anything between the red and yellow flames and the already burning trees up there.

He'd seen the burning logs coming down, setting the eastern woods of Mount Eagle aflame, and he'd known that it was over, that there wasn't anything they could do anymore, and now he just could hope that Morgan and his team was alright and on their way back down.

At least they were a bit more successful down here.

Of course the fire had come through the passageway, the flames jumping over the fire breaks he'd installed years ago, but it was slow going for the fire and they were fighting against it with two fire trucks.

Movement up there on the first slopes between the trees made him holding his breath for a moment before releasing it with a "damn!", and quickly he gave the field glasses over to Norman with the words "you take over here" and then he ran towards the slopes that went uphill, going after the child he'd seen up there.

Why did children always have to do the stupid things?

Climbing up there? Not only disregarding the dangers of the fire but – the strange creatures he'd seen earlier, too?

And he knew that there were strange creatures.

He was the chief here, and so he had to keep everything in view, what of course made him looking through his field glasses every now and then, and he'd seen them moving up there, strange creatures he would mistake for demons if that wouldn't go into a category he didn't like thinking of as he'd have to believe in such strange things then, but at the same time he also knew that they were no men.

He'd given the field glasses to Norman, having him looking through, too, and Norman had called them _'Satan's forces'_ – but really, if he had to believe in Satan, then he'd also have to believe in God, and he wasn't ready for such nonsense.

Of course, it was difficult living amongst all those people who did believe in God – and of course _'Satan's forces'_ – but that didn't mean that he'd give in and believe in something that was as illogical as was that.

"Boy!" He called out, the moment he could see movement between the trees – and a moment later he looked into the faces of … of two somethings he wouldn't forget, ever.

The – _things_ – had two eyes each, a nose and a mouth just like him, both had hair on their heads, two arms and two legs – but he wouldn't call them human persons anyway, even though he couldn't name the difference – it was more a feeling than real knowledge, nothing really visible, and another moment later both creatures were drawing their swords – swords, of all things, it was 1939, for heaven's sake, and not 14something – the demons smirking at him in what he'd call an evil way.

 _'Satan's forces'_ , he couldn't help thinking when taking a somewhat more secure stance, holding his axe which he, as a firefighter, was carrying at the ready – and then he waited. If these creatures thought he'd be easy prey, then the things would be very wrong, because he wasn't, and maybe he'd die – but he'd take them with him, too, and preferably both of them.

"Don't." He heard a voice beside him, and turning he looked into Gabe's face – into Gabe's calm face, mind you – and frowning he wondered how it was, that … but then … no, that wasn't Gabe, it couldn't be Gabe, because Gabe didn't generally carry a sword with him, and Gabe didn't look so much like a warrior either. But his facial features and his body language, everything reminded him at Gabe – even though this one here had dark, nearly black hair instead of the bright, blond hair Gabe had.

But the most remarkable difference were that man's eyes – hard and calm, but piercing like daggers, holding a knowledge that was scary, and determination that was directed at the two creatures that had just been about attacking him, but were now taking a step backwards before taking a deeper stance, awaiting – awaiting what?

The stranger walked past him, calmly, drawing his sword, too, metal scraping against the sheath, softly, just like a music sound, and just a moment later metal met metal, dark metal meeting bright and shiny metal – but it was clear that the stranger was stronger, more agile – and definitely more graceful than the two things, whatever these things were … even though he couldn't help thinking that if these creatures were demons from Satan, then this stranger had to be an angel from God.

He was moving easily, nearly dancing towards them before taking a step back, attacking anew and then sidestepping them before starting another attack, his movements graceful and angel-like, mesmerizing, and he actually had to take a deep breath – he was impressed, he had to admit that.

Sudden movement behind him made him turning, and without thinking he lifted his axe, bringing it down on the dark creature that had appeared behind him, its sword drawn and lifted – but he'd been quicker, and luckily so, he thought the moment the creature went to the ground, blinking at him in shock, as if he couldn't understand how a simple human had been able killing him.

He should be shocked at having killed a living creature, even though it was one that belonged to Satan, but he wasn't. He looked down at the creature with a hard but satisfied glare, and that actually startled him, scared him. Was he going to become a killer? What had happened if he'd hit the child or another innocent person? After all, he hadn't been thinking before striking … was he going to become a killer? Was he going to become –

"Don't worry, Jethro Chandler." The stranger said, sheathing his own sword, and blinking he realized that … had the fight between the stranger and these two other creatures been over so quickly? Or had he been thinking for so long? "That was good." The guy then said, his eyes piercing him like knives. "For a man."

"Who're you?" He asked, still feeling strange, confused, not really understanding what had been just happening

"I'm Michael." The stranger said. "And yes, I'm a – _brother_ – of Gabriel, if you so wish."

He looked over at the dead bodies of the dark guys, then at Michael – and suddenly …

"Don't tell me that you're the archangel Michael." He huffed, glaring at the man, because even though he didn't really believe that, he had no other explanation and it was the only logical conclusion.

"And the leader of God's Armies." The stranger said, giving a slight bow. "You need practicing these skills of yours."

"I have no inclination having such a fight at a regular basis, thank you very much." He growled, still not sure what to think, what to feel, even, how to act – because, if this really was the archangel Michael, then he had the highest of God's angels in front of him – and in this case these creatures really could be creatures of Satan, and if all of that was true, then he couldn't deny the existence of God any longer.

"I fear you won't have a choice in that." Michael said. "New Heaven's Valley will be standing in the centre of attention. Your town is starting to attract the dark, because great things will be happening there – and people, like you, are needed to fight the dark. The unseen war has become visible, Jethro Chandler, and you'll be a warrior in God's Armies."

"I'm no warrior!" He shook his head, frowning, his frown deepening the moment the angel was gone, gone just like that, gone just like the dead bodies of the demons were gone.

"You'll be, don't worry." The angel's voice said, echoing in his head, through the woods.

"Sir?" Came a voice from behind, and already he tightened the grip of his axe, lifting it a few inches, being at the ready before he turned.

"Sir!" The voice said, and before him stood a child, a boy – and definitely a human boy – looking at him startled, scared. He didn't know that boy, hadn't seen him ever, but he had to admit that he didn't know all the children living in New Heaven's Valley anyway, nor did he know all the children visiting family during the summer holidays, but he was sure that it was that particular boy he'd seen through his field glasses.

"What are you doing up here?" He asked, finally realizing that there was rain, not just the soft dripple of rain but downpour as if the heavens had opened their Watergates, and he nearly had to scream, not to overtone the noise of the flames, but the noise of the heavy rain coming down, and already he was soaked – as was the boy in front of him.

"There're two boys up there, climbing!" The boy called out, trying to pull him forwards, uphill, and taking a deep breath he turned for a moment, looking around, trying to make out his people down there at the passageway, trying to see some of those dark creatures, trying to concentrate on …

"Show me where, boy." He growled, pushing the boy forwards. He'd look after those idiot children, realizing that their life were his responsibility right now, never mind the wildfire still roaring up there, never mind the rainstorm that had started, never mind the demons roaming the hill, and never mind his men down there in the passageway.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Conner McFlaherty**

Thunder lazily rolled across the cloudy sky, the air was thick and oppressive and the gentle drizzle that had changed into a rainstorm did nothing to lighten it. The soft, grey shades of evening had settled once more upon New Heaven's Valley – and beneath the secluded and motionless boulders at the eastern side of Mount Eagle, a lone figure slid silently across the earthen area.

Conner was very nearly holding his breath in an attempt to remain perfectly silent, and so far he seemed to have escaped notice, but he would not relax until he had left the forest behind him, had reached the roots of the mountain.

He knew that there were some dark creatures close by, and he also knew that they were dangerous, responsible for the fire over there at Mount Cheyenne, for the flames that had spread over to the western side of Mount Eagle, but his heart was telling him that he had already waited too long, that he would either be killed by the flames, or by the demons.

Conner slid silently behind one of the last boulders as he saw several demon sentries pass noiselessly by in the distance, and holding his breath, he tried to hide himself away as good as possible, hoping that he remained unseen.

He wished he had his rain coat because that damn green thing would not only keep the rain off, but it also would blend better, but he hadn't thought about that when starting on his journey, since the sky had been blue for weeks, for months. Who'd be thinking of a rain coat during a draught period?

Once the coast was clear the young boy moved on again.

After another several minutes had passed he was finally free of the boulders and in the open plains just above the wooded area of Mount Eagle, and breathing a sigh of relief, Conner let some of the tension leave his aching body. He was still more worn from his climbing experience, and then from – climbing and sliding down the hillslopes – than he liked admitting, but at the same time a dreadful urgency had filled him. Bradyn was still in danger. And the fear that he was already too late gnawed at him incessantly.

Conner shivered slightly. Contrary to all those hot nights during the past several weeks, this evening had become cold, the rain adding to the cold, and it seemed to have gotten even more so as soon as he'd left the protective borders between the boulders. He wished he had his rain coat even more now, but there was no use thinking about that. He pressed on, working his way slowly and carefully down a steep incline. The grass and loose earth was slick with rain and his boots slid treacherously in the dark as he cautiously edged down the slope.

There was no warning.

He heard no footfalls, no rustle of movement – nothing to indicate that he was not alone.

However, some inner sense made the young Irishman turn sharply to the right and look around. Unfortunately the abrupt movement on the steep incline was no good idea.

Conner's boots slid on the slick grass and he lost his balance. His arms cut through the dark air as they waved in a useless attempt to regain his lost footing and he felt himself starting to tumble as his feet slid out from under him … when suddenly a strong hand caught his flailing right arm, pulling the young man up short and spinning him part way around.

The young boy jerked in surprise and alarm.

He couldn't see his attacker from this position and trying to turn was only going to make him slip again. He didn't dare thinking of who or what might have caught him, but it had him at a disadvantage and automatically, he used his free, left arm, to try and go for his pocket knife with his left hand since his right was caught firm, even though he knew that against those demons he'd seen earlier, a pocket knife was a laughable weapon, rather a tooth stick than anything else.

His tenuous footing slipped and slid further as he tried to pull free of whoever had grabbed him, or at least turn towards the being, but the strong hands that held him grappled against his forward momentum, pulling him back and catching his left arm, too, in a position that effectively rendered him unable to struggle any further.

"What are you doing, Conner? Be still or you'll fall!"

At the sound of the voice Conner instantly stopped struggling and allowed the hands on his arms to pull him fully upright and set him on his feet again on a more stable patch of grass and rocks.

The hands released him then and Conner pulled away, turning around to face the Indian behind him.

Wohehiv was glaring angrily at the boy, one eyebrow cocked, while Conner's breath was still coming quick and fast and his heart was pounding in his ears from the adrenaline surge a few moments ago.

"Are you trying to kill me?" He panted out, shocked at seeing the Cheyenne, standing tall and proud in the rain, not one bit scared by the demons which were close by in the forest – and he knew that the Indian knew about them, because he could see the man's bow and his quiver with arrows, the one they'd seen at the clearing when watching the Cheyenne's hut, and he guessed that he'd picked them up on his way up here.

"Actually that's what I was hoping to avoid." The Indian said calmly, his glare changing into a smile as he saw how nervous the boy was.

Conner shook his head and put one hand over his slowly calming heart as he glared accusingly at the man's now amused look. "And I thought my cousins were bad about sneaking up on me!" The truth was they might be good on sneaking up on others, they had learned to remain unseen while detecting others, but Wohehiv was another matter altogether.

"Perhaps if you didn't always feel the need to take off in the middle of the night, to do things which you should not do, you wouldn't have to worry about such." The Indian fixed the boy with a somewhat stern look. "And now tell me where Bradyn is and what had happened to him."

"He'd fallen and broke his leg" He said. "He's keeping shelter from the fire in the last cavern up there, shortly before the face of the rock. I went down to get help."

"What was a very good idea." He said. "Please get him down, Jean, I'll go and get that wayward brat – I know which cavern Conner's speaking of, and I'll find it without his help."

"What about those demons?" Conner asked and he looked over at the boy.

"You've seen them, too?" He asked, his eyes narrowed, because if that boy could see them, then he could see the unseen war between God and Satan, too, and if he saw that, then he could fight for God's side.

"Sure." The boy said, shuddering. "They're scary."

"They won't harm you as long as you trust in God, because he's stronger than them." He answered. "And they won't harm me either, because God's with me, too. And now go, both of you."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

* * *

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in … between roses and peppermint …**

 _Chapter ten: … fire, dinner and the best wine ever …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _Here I feel the need telling you that – I'd never planned on getting demons into the story, and surely not a fight between angels and demons, it just happened, like so many other things are just happening if you're an intuitive author._

 _It's like – your protagonist has an appointment with his new boss at ten o'clock, because he has to become a manager in a renowned company – and a quarter before ten he's still sitting in the sidewalk café, sipping his cappuccino … and then he even decides to become a teacher at a boarding school for difficult boy … just something you'd never had planned for him!_

 _Or this here – all night long you're pondering over the perfect name your protagonist could give to his newborn son, because the child has to be born in the very next chapter – something like, John or Mark, or maybe Steven Matthew … and then your protagonist is naming him –_ _Hreodbeor Hereweald Eadweard Hrothgar! Imagine! What a terrible and unspeakable name!_

 _He – or she – is driving you up the wall, is robbing your sleep, and always you have to change arrangements just to keep his – or her – story alive and running – and somewhat logical!_

 _In other words, never, absolutely never, become an author, you'll just always be in trouble!_

 _Just wished telling you that – sorry about the demon parts in an otherwise very down-to-earth story …_

 **Added author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	10. where strings meet

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonour God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child abuse.  
Child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused,  
then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistrieated.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me - I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smurge, bring brown rings caused by your coffeecup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Previously in 'between roses and peppermint'**

 _"Are you trying to kill me?" He panted out, shocked at seeing the Cheyenne, standing tall and proud in the rain, not one bit scared by the demons which were close by in the forest – and he knew that the Indian knew about them, because he could see the man's bow and his quiver with arrows, the one they'd seen at the clearing when watching the Cheyenne's hut, and he guessed that he'd picked them up on his way up here._

 _"Actually that's what I was hoping to avoid." The Indian said calmly, his glare changing into a smile as he saw how nervous the boy was._

 _Conner shook his head and put one hand over his slowly calming heart as he glared accusingly at the man's now amused look. "And I thought my cousins were bad about sneaking up on me!" The truth was they might be good on sneaking up on others, they had learned to remain unseen while detecting others, but Wohehiv was another matter altogether._

 _"Perhaps if you didn't always feel the need to take off in the middle of the night, to do things which you should not do, you wouldn't have to worry about such." The Indian fixed the boy with a somewhat stern look. "And now tell me where Bradyn is and what had happened to him."_

 _"He'd fallen and broke his leg" He said. "He's keeping shelter from the fire in the last cavern up there, shortly before the face of the rock. I went down to get help."_

 _"What was a very good idea." He said. "Please get him down, Jean, I'll go and get that wayward brat – I know which cavern Conner's speaking of, and I'll find it without his help."_

 _"What about those demons?" Conner asked and he looked over at the boy._

 _"You've seen them, too?" He asked, his eyes narrowed, because if that boy could see them, then he could see the unseen war between God and Satan, too, and if he saw that, then he could fight for God's side._

 _"Sure." The boy said, shuddering. "They're scary."_

 _"They won't harm you as long as you trust in God, because he's stronger than them." He answered. "And they won't harm me either, because God's with me, too. And now go, both of you."_

 **Between roses and peppermint**

 **Chapter ten – where strings meet**

 **Or – and the story ends …**

 **July 19th 1939, Wednesday evening – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Jethro Chandler**

"Sit" He growled, darkly, seating the boy whom he'd grabbed at the shirt over his shoulder, leading – or rather pushing – him into the building.

They'd met McIory and the McFlaherty boy shortly after that fight with those demons, McIory leading the boy downhill, and they'd shortly informed him about what had happened – so, there had been no need to go up there, the Indian knew what he was doing, after all, and so he'd brought the boy down to the valley, remembering a conversation he'd just shortly before had with one particular butcher.

"And now, care to explain what idiot thoughts had caused you to climb up that damn mountain, and during a wildfire roaring up there, no less?"

The moment they'd come down from Mount Eagle, he'd been satisfied that his men had not only got the fire in the passageway between the two mountains under control, but had with the help of the rain extinguished the flames, completely, as strange as this little fact seemed to him as he knew – a wildfire out of control would only stop if there was no fuel left.

He'd put the boy into one of the fire-trucks, with the words "don't you dare moving away" and then he'd helped his men with the last things which had to be done before they could take a rest, respectively before assigning two men for the fire-watch.

"I'd seen the two boys up at Mount Eagle, and I just _had_ to help them!" The boy said, sounding desperate. "I thought I could warn them before the fire was there."

"And it didn't come to that little mind you have in that head of yours, to inform an adult?" He asked, anger at the boy's idiocy finally taking the upper hand – that idiot boy could be _dead_ , for heaven's sake!

"Of course I did!" The boy called out.

"Then why didn't you act upon it and actually informed an adult?" He asked, and he'd like to shake the boy.

"But that's what I did!" The boy shook his head.

"You did what?" He asked, growling, frowning – he wasn't used to handling children, and surely not children like that idiot boy.

"Informing an adult." The boy said. "I've informed the sheriff, but he'd just sent me away."

"The boy did." Cole said, coming over, lured over to them by the – not quite silent argument. "He'd informed me and I've informed Wohehiv. I've just sent you back home to your family, so that you were off the streets in a situation like that."

"But you didn't tell me …" The boy softly said, frowning, too. "I thought you'd ignore it and …"

"I suggest you leave adult things to adults, boy." He said, glaring at the brat that could have died.

"Who're you anyway?" Cole asked, his eyes narrowed at the boy.

"He's my godson and he's living with me during the summer holidays." He said, glaring at the boy, warning him to keep his mouth shut – because suddenly he was absolutely sure that this boy was the runaway that was hiding at New Heaven's Valley since last summer, a student from Hathaway that refused going home during the summer holidays – whatever reason for.

"Walter." The boy nodded, giving away his name.

"Why don't you and the boy, get home and get dried, and then you come back here for dinner." Cole said. "The women have prepared sausages, salad and freshly baked bread."

"I have nothing to do with your church." He growled, even though there was a thought he couldn't quite shake off …

 _'I fear you won't have a choice in that.' Michael said. 'New Heaven's Valley will be standing in the centre of attention. Your town is starting to attract the dark, because great things will be happening there – and people, like you, are needed to fight the dark. The unseen war has become visible, Jethro Chandler, and you'll be a warrior in God's Armies.'_

A warrior in God's armies.

If he'd learned that a creature like God actually could be existent, then it had been today – because today he'd met an angel, an arch-angel, even, and today he'd met Satan's demons, he'd even killed one of them, and he'd seen how both creatures, angel and demon, had both been vanishing before his very eyes.

Then there'd been the rain, and as a long-time firefighter he knew that – simple rain that had come down, even though it's been a downpour, wouldn't have extinguished a wildfire, not as quickly as it actually had, not to mention that he'd found that boy whom clearly God had sent, even though he didn't really know why as he didn't like children at all, and if he took all things together, then it had to be God's doing.

He didn't know why and how, but everything had been just too strange for being coincidence – and this angel, Michael, he'd told him that he'd be a warrior of God – it had been like a bodement.

"You've been out there all day long, taking care of us, you're living here, and you're invited, Jethro." Cole said. "I'd be happy if you dropped by."

"Perhaps we'll come." He said, getting off the chair and ushering the boy up, too. Maybe he'd really come, even though he'd just come to meet Gabe and ask him about that brother of his, and to see if maybe that man had anything he could compare to the archangel Gabriel – what would be very strange, indeed, an archangel appearing here, in a small valley like theirs, living here with them for some years now. He'd rather not tell that story to anyone.

The downpour had reduced to a soft drizzle, and quickly he ushered the boy out of the church.

"Get your things." He said, following the boy who led the way to his hideout through the soft rain.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Wohehiv Hawkeye**

"Will you come for dinner, Jean?" Wohehiv asked.

He'd easily found the boy, Bradyn, and he'd easily got him down from Mount Eagle.

"Dunno." Jean answered, shrugging his shoulders. "I've never been here before."

"Never mind that." He shook his head. "Just stay here – or come back after you got out of these … dripping … rags … you're wearing." He then added, looking the man up and down in a playful gesture.

"Maybe." Jean said, but he knew that most likely the man would go home to change into some dry and warm clothes, and once at home he wouldn't come back.

"What about you, Dunstan?" He asked the other guy who'd come with Jean. He knew that Dunstan was working at Norman's garage and had just recently moved in with Jean McIory – and he knew it, because Norman had told him, and watching the two, it was as if watching father and son. Sure, Dunstan would never replace Isaak, but he guessed that Jean wouldn't want that anyway – for the young man it was enough to have someone in the house whom he could ask for counsel once in a while.

He lived in New Heaven's Valley since he was a child, now, and he knew Jean McIory for a very long time now, but rarely before had he seen the man as relaxed and as calm as he was now. This strange arrangement seemed to be good for him, and he couldn't help wondering what would become of the man in future, now that he'd dared taking a glimpse out of his shell.

"Perhaps." The man nodded at him. "And perhaps I'll bring that crank here, too."

"That would be great." He grinned.

"I've prepared a few mats for the children in one of the upper rooms." Penelope said and he turned towards the woman, smiling.

Just a few days ago she'd doubted God, just a few days ago she'd been unsure about anything that had to do with God, with any kind of church and with Jesus – and now she was here, becoming a member of their church.

Of course no one had been able to answer the woman's questions, a few days ago, when she'd been here for the first time, because no one actually _could_ , but God didn't need them, and God had again acted, and the woman had allowed it, had started changing.

Sure, she'd have other questions, and sure, just because she was about to become a member of the church, it didn't mean that she was truly healed, it didn't mean that there wouldn't be times of doubt – but it was a beginning, and knowing this church, he knew that there would always be someone Penelope could be talking to.

"That's a good idea." He answered. "It could get late, today, and if the children can sleep upstairs, they won't force their parents to go home early. Today is a special day, Penelope, because today God has worked wonders, several wonders, today this small valley has become the centre of attention – it has become a special place."

"I don't think so." The woman shook her head at him, her brows raised.

"Why not?" He asked, curious as to what Penelope would answer.

"Look, you're in this church for years, you're seeing it each and every day, and for you – this place isn't a special place anymore, because for you this church has become normal and you're desperately trying to make it even better. Nothing wrong here, really, but I have had the opportunity to look at this church from an outside source, and I can tell you – this church of yours, is indeed a special place already, and it's been even before today."

Slowly nodding his head he smiled.

"Thank you, Penelope." He said. "Anyway – today God has shown his power, and today is a day we should celebrate, we should thank him, and we should remember – and tell others."

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Gabe Heavensville**

"Is there anything else I can do, Gabriel?" Sébastien asked and he shook his head, just like so often wondering why Sébastien would call him Gabriel instead of Gabe, he was the only one who did – and somehow he had the impression that Sébastien was the only one who knew that he was the archangel Gabriel.

"No, Sébastien." He said. "Go and get dry, and don't forget to come back for dinner."

"Surely not." Sébastien laughed. "I heard that Kayleigh has made her potato salad and I'll never miss that – not to mention that I've seen Norman bringing several barrels of his best wine – several barrels, mind you – _barrels_ , not bottles, and I'll not let you drink that without me, my dear Gabriel."

"Of course not." He laughed at the wistful and yearning eyes the man made before turning and then leaving the church to dress into some dry and warm clothes – after all, it's become cold, and running along with wet clothes didn't help the coldness either.

Well, he'd seen Sébastien Lafayette out there today, fighting some of those demons – some, mind you, not just one or two – and while he'd been very glad about the man's presence, helping him and Michael with those vile creatures, he couldn't help wondering how that man had not only survived, but had also killed several of those demons.

And it wasn't that Sébastien had had any troubles fighting them – no, he'd fought them as easily and as gracefully, as Michael had, his movements strong and elegant – not to mention that he'd fought them with a sword, handling the weapon as if he'd never in his life had handled anything else than that.

He'd been sure in his actions and his face had been calm – neither distorted in fear nor in hate or misplaced gloating. The man had been calm and serene.

There had only been one moment upon both, Sébastien and one of his opponents, too, had been hesitating before starting a fight which he would have liked watching, but regrettably he'd been busy with fighting his own demon – because fluid and smooth movements had merged into strong clashes of metal, into elegant swinging of a blade here and a singing of metal cutting through air there. It's been fierce, it's been graceful and the little moments he'd had for watching, he'd somehow had the impression that both, the dark creature and Sébastien Lafayette knew each other.

Well, he'd often thought that Sébastien had to be a demon from Satan, after all, they didn't have greasy hair falling into a pale face that was ugly and pimply, drool running down their distorted faces. No, they used to look just like any other person and sometimes it wasn't easy to differ between the one and the other – and even he, Gabriel, could fall for them. But today Sébastien Lafayette had proven his sides, because he'd destroyed just as many as had he and Michael.

And nevertheless – Sébastien and that particular demon, this one demon – they'd known each other, he was sure, even though he had no explanation for that as no one who'd faced a demon so far, had survived – ever. Not if they were no angel, and not if they were no other demon, and he knew that Sébastien was no angel, because he knew all of them, because he knew all of his brothers.

Watching Bradyn McFlaherty limping down the stairs, his mother helping him, he shook his head at the wayward boy.

Morgan McFlaherty had led his men down from Mount Eagle when it had been clear that there was no other way, when it was clear that they'd only die in that fire-hell, and upon arriving the passageway between Mount Cheyenne and Mount Eagle, Jethro's team had already gained control over the fire, had already started extinguishing it, the downpour of rain having easily worked to their benefit. Morgan, as the deputy chief had right away taken over both teams as Jethro by that time had already started climbing the mountain, looking for a boy he'd seen up there, and together the two teams had completed the last steps in watching over the area, making sure that the fire wouldn't start anew – even though he had doubted that, considering the downpour of rain that just wouldn't stop, and in preparing the fire trucks for their departure, clearing the area.

However, Morgan had paled when seeing Wohehiv coming down from the hill with the boy, with Bradyn, and – well, he'd been sure that the Irishman would give in to his temper, and would take his son over his knees in his first shock and anger. But Morgan hadn't – however, he'd given him a tongue-lashing that had been – just whoa … really! He'd folded the boy, and he was sure that Bradyn wouldn't climb one of those mountains ever again.

Wohehiv had carried the boy down the mountain, and reaching the church he'd looked after the boy's leg and his hand, and then he'd set and casted the leg, telling Morgan and Gwyneth that it was a simple fracture only.

Other than that there hadn't been any other catastrophes – only Conner getting the same tongue-lashing from his mother as Bradyn had gotten from his father, the boy having to write an essay about why they'd climbed the mountain, how the adults around them would feel about his disobedience, and what could have happened in the worst case scenario – and of course Bradyn's mother had told her son that – "you won't be so easy off, boy, you'll just write the same thing!".

"Gabe! Wohehiv!" Little Timmy came in, running towards him. "He's 'wake … he's 'wake …"

"Calm down, little one." He said, catching the boy before he'd run into someone or something. "Who's awake? Little Owen?" He then asked.

"Yes …" The boy called out, pulling on his sleeve. "He's just woken an hour 'go and I've talked wif'em an' he'sn't angry wif me, really …" The boy said, falling back to – the talking of a really small child in his excitement.

"With, Timmy." He said, correcting the boy and shaking his head with amusement.

"Yeah … with … anyway, he'sn't angry wif me!" The boy repeated, still pulling at his sleeve, and he couldn't help laughing.

"Now, where would you have me going, little one?" He asked, allowing the boy to pull him away from the counter.

"To Wohehiv." The boy said, still excitedly, pulling his sleeve. "Have to tell him …"

"I've heard you calling out the good news from seven miles away, already." Wohehiv said, coming over to them, laughing. "Calm down, Timmy, and tell me about it in clear words."

And so the boy finally released his sleeve, his attention being drawn to Wohehiv who winked at him in amusement, and he shook his head, not really knowing if he shook his head about Wohehiv, who just picked the boy up to set him on his hip, or the boy who started telling the Indian about what had happened at the hospital today – and he knew, little Owen waking today of all days, and being healthy, it only could be a miracle, because if you walked with God, then you knew that coincidences didn't exist.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Michael**

Walking into the church he smiled when seeing Gabriel leaning against the counter, the other angel watching the humans he so much loved with a happy grin plastered over his face, watching the Indian picking up little Timmy who told him excitedly about what had happened today at the hospital, and shaking his head he walked over to him.

"I see, your humans have mastered that nice, little meeting from Satan's followers." He said.

"Of course they did." Gabriel answered, grinning at him. "They're not half as bad as you think."

"This won't have been the last meeting here." He said, seriously.

"I know." Gabriel answered. "But they will meet them again, and they will learn how to fight them."

"You'll stay here?" He asked.

"As long as the Lord allows me here, yes, I'll stay here." Gabriel answered, and he inclined his head.

"I've promised a young warrior to teach him." He said, pondering, winking at a boy called Angus who waved at him, happily, before coming over and pulling his hand, clearly wanting him to pick him up the way Wohehiv had picked up Timmy Sanchez just a moment ago.

"You won't have time for that." Gabriel shook his head, watching him complying the little one's request, and he glared at the other angel, daring him to say something about that – _'un-warrior-like'_ behaviour. "You have an army to command, and you have your own battles to fight."

"I'll have time between that." He huffed, prodding the boy with his forefinger, causing him to giggle and wiggle.

"Commanding an entire army of angels in a war against Satan's forces?" Jethro Chandler's voice came, the man leading the boy he'd been after, into the church, both looking dry and warm now – and he knew that the only reason the man had come tonight, was Gabriel and him, Michael. "And you'll still have time between fighting and commanding? That has to be a very good army, then."

"Actually, it is." He huffed at the mortal man who looked him up and down, and he knew that he tried to get clear with having an angel, and an archangel no less, before him, trying to detect anything 'angel-like' on him – something that had to be very difficult while he was carrying a small, human child on his hip.

"If it were so easy – then Satan and his horde would've been destroyed ages ago already, Michael." Jethro said, and he had to admit that the man wasn't an idiot – nor a fool.

"No, it is not easy." He inclined his head. "Or we wouldn't be needed, but for them it isn't easy either, especially with some mortal men like you fighting side by side with the angels."

There wasn't an answer, the grumpy man just glaring at him, causing Gabriel to laugh and he glared at the other angel, while little Angus started giggling.

"Dinner's ready." Kayleigh came over. "Stop fussing around and get washed. Dinner's ready."

"We're coming – good evening, Jean." Gabriel said, and he turned, seeing two other men coming into the church – Jean McIory and Dunstan, both men clearly feeling out of place, but Gabriel went over to them, greeting them happily and pushing them towards the area where dinner was prepared already.

Really – again Gabriel had found his place.

It wasn't the first time in all those millennia, that Gabriel had found a small valley, a small town, or a small village he could take care of, could prepare for God's plans – and each time he could do such, the immortal was happy – and he was good in his work, too, he couldn't deny that, not at all. And now, again, he'd found his place … and it wouldn't be the last time.

Great things would happen here, that was clear.

War would come, too, a war racing over most parts of the world.

But it wouldn't be the last time that Gabriel had found his place.

Other small valleys would come, other small towns, and other small villages, and other times where people had to be prepared for the Lord's plans, other people trusting in God, being loyal to their Lord – the world wouldn't stop now.

Times would come where people would be consumed by electronic devices, controlled by computer games, mobile apps and movies running on the television 24/7, manipulated by the news in television, radio, and internet – and he knew … that would be a war taking place on an entirely different level. There would be no bullets, there would be no bombs, and there would be no men fighting men face to face – but still, it would be a war, it would be an electronic war.

And still – Gabriel would find his place …

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Walter Sherman**

"Eat something, boy." Mr. Chandler growled at him. "Not even the grass would know of you walking over it." – And he grimaced, because he wasn't _that_ starved, really! He'd still had two rolls and two sausages amongst the things he'd gathered when Mr. Chandler had told him to get his things, which he quickly had packed into the blanket to protect them from the rain, and then he'd followed the man the short distance to his house where he'd told him to take a shower and to change into dry clothes.

When he'd come back from the bathroom, Mr. Chandler had already _'unpacked'_ his bundle – what had made him angry for a moment, wondering what right the man called his own to look through his things – but then he'd inwardly shrugged his shoulders. He was off the streets for now, even though that wasn't the worst place imaginable, and the man had just taken his wet things to put them over the oven – so what? He didn't really have a problem with that – and anything else was laying on the table in the parlour, untouched.

"Now tell me of that godson of yours, Jethro." The sheriff said, sitting down beside Mr. Chandler's other side. "Haven't seen him here in New Heaven's Valley so far."

"He's the son of a distant cousin." Mr. Chandler said. "I'm taking care of him during the summer holidays as long as my cousin is abroad."

Taking care of him …

For a moment his lungs stopped breathing at Mr. Chandler's words, and he couldn't help remembering a few words he'd just a few days earlier said to God, while the conversation between the sheriff and Mr. Chandler went to the background.

 **Flashback**

 _His teacher for religious education, Mr. Chandler, had told them about God, and that God always cared for his people if they asked him to, and he'd really asked God to care for him this summer the way he'd done last year. So, he guessed it would work, one way or another._

 _He'd seen Mr. Chandler this afternoon. He'd known that he lived here, he'd seen him here last summer, too, after all – but it was a strange thing anyway, seeing him here, outside of school._

 _Mr. Chandler was one of the better teachers at Hathaway and he'd be happy having the man as his head of house – but of course he wouldn't be so lucky. His head of house was Professor Frogman._

 _Kermit Frogman – really, who on earth would name their kid Kermit? Especially if their family name was Frogman?_

 _However, he had to deal with Professor Frogman, the deputy headmaster, and he wasn't overly happy about that. Frogman didn't really make sure that they were learning. Frogman didn't really care at all, he guessed. It was better than with his parents, though, who didn't care either or they would have started looking for him, asking him why he hadn't been home last summer, sure, but somehow he'd like someone who'd finally care._

 _Alright – it could be worse, he couldn't help chuckling. For example he could have Professor Hrothgar as his head of house, and – that – really would be horror._

 _Professor Hrothgar and him, he was sure that it's been hate from the first moment since they'd met for the first time, at the beginning of last school year._

 _Maybe it's just been because Hrothgar didn't like Frogman and therefore didn't like his students either, because anyone could tell that the Chemistry Professor didn't like the Frogman students, always giving them more detention while he favored his own students, but he was sure that there was more, because Hrothgar didn't just dislike him, he hated him with a passion that bordered on obsession, he was sure 'bout that._

 _There was no chemistry lesson during which he wasn't ridiculed by the Professor, during which he didn't get a failed and during which he didn't get extra homework in form of an essay he had to write, or detention. He must have spent more time with the Chemistry Professor than with his head of house._

 _He hated it._

 _"If you just sent someone who'd finally care, God." He said, leaning back on his mat. "My parents don't, my teachers don't, do you even care? Mr. Chandler said you do. But if you do, wouldn't you then send someone who'd care 'bout me, too? And while you're considering my case, couldn't you just send me another Chemistry Professor, too? Because I really don't get along with Professor Hrothgar. Uhm … well, and thanks for the rolls, and thanks for listening in the first place."_

 _Well, he didn't know if it would help, but he guessed it was the right thing to do, and taking a deep breath he left the roof, carefully descending the stairway, making sure that he wasn't seen and making sure that he made no noise. He desperately needed candles and maybe he could find a few tomatoes and an apple or two in one of the gardens. It was late, after all, and as tomorrow was Sunday, and as people would go to service, they'd go to bed early._

 **End flashback**

"And here I thought that I knew all your family." The sheriff laughed. "Seems to be a good boy, that one, caring for others."

"He is." Came another voice from the other side of the table, and for a moment his heart seemed to jump out of his chest when looking over and seeing Professor Chandler sitting there, looking at him with a piercing gaze.

"You know the boy?" The sheriff asked, and he knew that now he was a dead man.

"Of course." Mr. Chandler laughed, and he couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat that nearly made him crying. For once in his life he'd found someone who seemed to care and now … "Jethro's my brother, after all, and therefore any distant cousin of his is mine, too. Not to mention that we meet once in a while – maybe we could have a game of chess in the park next week, Walter?"

Alright, he … seemed safe for now, and quickly he nodded his head. He didn't really understand how that was possible, but – at least for now, he seemed to be safe.

But then –

"I've thought you wouldn't know Walter." The butcher said, sitting down beside Professor Chandler, carrying a plate with two steaks and bread with him, frowning when putting it on the table. "You said you didn't have a nephew."

"Sure – I still don't have one." Mr. Chandler shrugged his shoulder. "Walter is my godson, not my nephew."

Well – wasn't that a lie? He wondered, frowning at the food, because frowning at one of the people surely was out of question.

And wasn't a lie – forbidden? That's what the bible said, after all – you shall not lie … it was one of the commandments.

"Eat, boy." Mr. Chandler said, again. "Or is the excitement too much for you? You know, you could just as well go upstairs and to bed together with the small children …"

"No, sir." He quickly said, starting on his sausages and the bread on his plate. "That won't be necessary."

"Good." The man huffed at him, and he grinned.

Yes, he'd finally found someone who cared.

The man might be grumpy and old, but he cared – and he was a firefighter, the chief, even, and _that_ was quite cool.

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Morgan McFlaherty**

"Good food, better wine, and the best company." Sébastien said, leaning back in his chair and placing the cutlery on his plate, sighing, before taking another sip of his red wine – and of course he had named the food at first, because the vegetables the man had had couldn't be that good, really. "That's the order you have to remember this particular feast with … even though it's nearly the best wine ever."

"Wine – I'd rather drink water than that swill – it's for the women and young only!" He glared at the man that was perfectly satisfied. He would engulf in a glass of whiskey the moment he got home, a glass of whiskey, in front of his fire, and with his feet laying on the table – even though Gwyneth wouldn't like that.

"I'd differ." Sébastien smiled at him. "All over the world men are drinking wine – Jesus drank wine, too … and surely you can't deny that he was a man, and a great man, no less."

"Anyway … a man needs a tumbler of good, strong, whiskey once in a while." He shook his head. "And nowhere in the bible is written that Jesus didn't have that every now and then."

"I do have several bottles of good and strong whiskey at home." Sébastien said, as if being bored by that little information he gave away – but he knew that the – _'Vegetarian New Heaven's Valley Vampire'_ , as he liked calling the man – inwardly smirked at the longing face Morgan made … what didn't cause him to make a less longing face, however.

"You have?" He asked, clearly interested.

"Sure." Sébastien nodded his head. "If you just wait a moment, I'll go and fetch one."

Well, the man lived just at the other side of the street, and so he'd be back in a moment, and he nodded his head – he wouldn't go anywhere anyway.

Gwyneth had put Bradyn to bed upstairs, even though it wasn't really bedtime yet, but the boy had been overexcited all day long, he'd fallen and broken his leg, and he'd been overtired – the moment Gwyn had put him to bed, he'd already been asleep … in other words, Gwyneth and he, they'd be sleeping here – that would spare them carrying the boy home in the middle of the night, and they wouldn't be the only one doing that.

Kayleigh had put Conner and Meghan to bed, too, and Gabe was sitting upstairs, telling Angus a good-night story – as did Caitlyn and Ann-Kathrin Henson. The rooms upstairs would soon be filled with children for the night, and later on with their parents, too – and tomorrow morning it would be breakfast here, he couldn't help thinking, smiling.

There was life here, at their church, they were family, and they were living, really living, not just existing.

Sébastien appearing beside him, and placing a glass before him on the table, got him out of his thoughts, the man pouring some golden liquid into the glass, and chuckling happily, he took the glass, taking a swig – and then a deep breath, trying to get some air into his lungs one way or another, and he knew that Gwynneth surely wouldn't approve of him drinking that particular whiskey, but well – she'd married an Irishman, and there was nothing better for an Irishman than drinking good, and strong whiskey once in a while, if the situation demanded it.

"Now, was that better than the wine?" Sébastien Lafayette asked, laughing, even though he knew that the man was clearly preferring the wine.

"That's the best self-annealed whiskey I've ever been drinking." Morgan answered. "I felt it like a torchlight procession going down my throat – one of the best whiskeys I've ever had, indeed – how old is that good drop of yours?"

"Old, my friend – Old." Was all, Sébastien smiled, pouring two fingers of the whiskey himself. "Very old, indeed."

"Then why would you sharing it with an ol'guy like me?" He asked, leaning back and taking another sip of the drink.

"If not now, and if not with you, then when? And with whom?" Sébastien asked back, winking an eye.

"That's true." This Michael guy – who was just as strange as was Sébastien – said, sitting beside him.

"Like a swig?" Sébastien asked, and the stranger inclined his head.

"A swig won't be amiss." The man said, taking a sip of the golden liquid. "That's good." He then nodded approving. "Very old stuff."

"Ye know, today was a good day." He said, leaning back, finally relaxing after the stress of the day fell off. "This church has often prayed for being a real church of God, a church with strong members, with true believers and with brave followers of Christ, with followers who are wise but courageous, too – for being a church that walked with God, indeed, and never mind what."

"Really?" Damien asked, the boy having passed by, having heard their conversation. "But why would you pray for that? Isn't it enough if you pray and sing? And if you go to service and read the bible?"

"Of course not, my boy." He shook his head. "That might be enough for being a nice and a good Christian – but you won't do the really great things then, you won't reach people … you'll be sitting in the boat like the other apostles while Peter – the one who'd always had a big mouth – asked his Lord to call him onto the water. They were safe, sure, but it's been Peter who'd dared something big, and who'd taken his chances, who went onto the water to follow Jesus."

"But is it really necessary?" The boy asked. "See, maybe not everyone is as daring as Peter had been. Are they less Christians?"

"Of course not." He shook his head, laughing. "God has given a gift to each and every person – and there are some who'll be doing the really great things, while others will be doing prayers and bible studies – or trying to get others into their boat, trying to rescue others. Each and every person has got a gift from God – and we have to act according to that gift. Imagine God has made you brave, but each time you have to leave the safety of the boat you're hiding away in your cabin – how many people will drown in the sea because you have hidden on the boat instead of leaning over and reaching them your hand? And imagine God has made you an author – what about all those people who just could be reading about your stories, learning by them, but you're not writing them, not touching people. God gives us a gift … but he expects us to use the gift he's given us."

"Alright." The boy said. "Anyway, I just don't see a reason as to why God would answer to your prayers with a wildfire and anything else that has happened today. People could be dead!"

"But they aren't." The stranger said. "Rarely men see God's plans – but he has a plan in everything he does, and each plan is a good plan – always remember, everything God is doing, he's doing for our good."

"What good did this wildfire do?" Damien asked.

"The people in this small valley have learned." The stranger answered. "They have – gained a new level, if you so wish."

"God could just as well put the people on another level without endangering them." The boy still didn't understand.

"Do you know what Francis of Assisi asked of God?" The stranger asked, and he lifted his eyebrow at the man.

"Sure." The boy answered. "He'd asked: 'Lord, grand me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the one from the other.' We've learned that at school."

"That's very good." The man said. "Now – what do you think God will do, if you ask him for more strength?" The stranger then asked and he huffed, because he already knew the answer. "Giving you the strength, or giving you the chance to gain strength?"

"The second?" The boy answered, shrugging his shoulders, and he guessed he'd chosen the second one because the first answer had seemed too simple to him.

"Exactly – and what do you think God will do, if you ask him for more wisdom?" The stranger then asked. "Giving you wisdom, or giving you the chance to gain wisdom?"

"Again, I guess God will give me the chance to gain wisdom." The boy answered, more assured this time.

"He will – now, what do you think, God will do, if a church asks God for more courage?" The man asked, grinning at the boy. "Simply giving the church more courage – or leading the church through situations during which they can gain courage?"

"But that could be dangerous." The boy shook his head, clearly getting it.

"It could – if God weren't there." The stranger now laughed. "But God is, and God will protect his people. Whatever gift God has given you – use it, boy, because it would be disrespectful if you didn't – just like God has given a gift to this church, has made it alive, and now those people have enough stories to tell, thus making our God a big God, and a good God. See it – live it – and then tell others."

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~ **†** ~*~_ _ _*__ _ _ _~*~_ _ _*____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~*~______ **†** ~· … ·Łine_

 **The end**

 **To be continued in "between snow and ice"**

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before hitting the "next"-button, are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


	11. preview to between snow and ice

**Title:**

Between roses and peppermint

 **Prequel to:**

Between snow and ice  
And sit a while with me  
Twenty-one days  
A few days more  
Two seconds  
End of days

 **Author:**

Evil Minded – alias Mrs. Trabi

 **Classification:**

Fiction – based on the bible

 **Timeframe:**

Summer 1939

 **Location:**

New Heaven's Valley, Indiana

 **Summary:**

AU / Just a short story about a small town in the states – about God's church, about God's people, and about belief, faith and trust, about family and about summer '39, about a girl that loves lavender, a boy that loves motorbikes, and about a church that is a place for God's family … about a picture God has given me some time ago …

 **Disclaimer:**

Well … to my knowledge there is no place in Indiana called New Heaven's Valley and any persons and events in this story are fictional – should there be any relations to people or places, then that was far from my intentions …

Also, any reference to the Bible is just that, a reference, I do not own anything written in the Bible, neither the words, nor the persons, places or happenings – the words are God's words and any other things are the attests of witness from people who lived about two thousands of years ago, or rather the translations of their testimonies.

I'm just borrowing things from that best of all books, and even though I promise that I won't misuse anything written in the Bible, that I won't dishonor God, His name, His words or our belief in Him – I nevertheless do apologize for the chaos I might create in this story and I promise, I will bring it in as much order as is possible for a chaotically inclined writer … thanks for your understanding …

 **Author's notes:**

I am writing this in the hope that I'll live up to the responsibility every author has, even though I am aware that this here will be very difficult and reviews are very much welcomed, thank you very much.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

 **Warning:**

Story contains bad language and swearing.  
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence.  
It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.

Story contains references to child neglect.  
Child neglect as well as child abuse is a really, really serious and evil thing, and whenever you meet someone, child or adult, who shows any signs – whichever – of once having been abused or neglected, then try to help … there are too many people in our world who are or have been mistreated or neglected.  
this does however not mean that I am not as evil as I pretend to be …^.~ … believe me – I am …

One last word of warning:  
If you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, burn, throw, deface, smear, smudge, bring brown rings caused by your coffee cup on the pages, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards this book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them …

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~_ _ **†**_ _~*~*~*~*~*~_ _ **†**_ _~· … ·Łine_

 **December 19** **th** **1939, Tuesday – New Heaven's Valley, Indiana**

 **Viewpoint of Dunstan**

It was strange, really!

And he was frustrated!

Never before had he done something like that – and he knew that he was late in doing what he was doing right now anyway – anyone else had already finished their preparations weeks ago, on the first Sunday in Advent while _he_ was still busy with hanging angels and balls in different colors at the tree Jean had brought last Sunday.

Not that cutting a tree for Christmas would be something the boy had done at a regular basis in the past, surely not, it had been a first time for _him_ , too – but that didn't change the little fact that he was busy with something that was just annoying to no end.

If there were black balls for the tree – that would be alright with him.

If the snow outside would be … _black_ … that would be alright with him, too.

He'd deal with the coldness of winter, really, no trouble there – but who in God's name, had come up with white snow? And then all that red and gold trash people used for decorations! And that fluffy, fleecy, soft, candy and sweet thingy that was … Christmas itself!

It was just horrible.

It was horrible – and it was only four days away.

During summer he'd said – well, it's half a year until December. During fall he'd said that – it's still three months until Christmas, and even last month he'd said – it's still four weeks, there's some time left until then. And now, it was four days until Christmas and he wondered where time had gone.

If everything were cold and hard and black, then he'd like it much better, really – but white snow? And colorful balls? Golden angels?

And really, if his brother – not his twin but his older brother – were alive still, then he'd surely agree with him, too.

Frowning he stopped in his actions of decorating a Christmas tree, thinking, because it was a rare occasion that he was thinking of his older brother.

He still didn't know how – and especially when – he'd died.

He was often thinking of Kenrich, of his twin, and he knew exactly what had happened, when Kenrich had died – but it were rare occasions that he was remembering …

Kenrich had been killed on October 6th 1914, exactly two years after he'd left home and he knew it, because he'd felt it when his twin had died. He'd then gathered any information he could get his hands on, but he'd been unable going home for the funeral.

Too much time had passed since he'd left home, and too much had happened before he'd left home, too much had happened while he'd been away, too, and in the end he'd been unable going back home. Maybe because he'd feared he'd kill his father the moment he saw him, maybe he'd feared he'd tell his mother a piece of his mind, maybe … he didn't know what it had been that had kept him from going home, but the fact remained that he'd just been unable to.

He'd been home again when his father had died – the last of his family.

Of course he hadn't known about his oldest brother being dead, too, when he'd arrived in Tonopah. He'd rather thought he'd meet him there, taking over his heritage consisting in several banks, companies and hotels worth several million dollars, but he'd been wrong and there had been nothing that could have given information about his brother's death – he'd been just … gone, as if he'd never existed, as if he'd been a ghost in his mind, only. No place of death, no date of death, no obituary, no grave, no nothing.

There hadn't been anyone there when he'd come – _'home'_ – except of the family lawyer who'd told him this and that, but was unable answering all of his questions … and still he didn't know what to do with all the money that would be rightfully his in less than five months.

And a few months ago he'd just been … a normal guy.

Shaking his head – and grimacing at the shiny red ball he held in his hands – he continued with this most stupid activity that was called decorating a Christmas tree.

He didn't want all of that, the money, the banks, the firms, and anything else that had to do with his father's imperium. He'd been living a life that had been simple, that had been fun, and that had been – easy, at least to some degrees. He'd lived at Hopedale, one of the largest ranches in Virginia where Joshua and the twins lived together with their father and he'd helped as much as Mr. Vaughn's sons had helped. It's been a lot of work and it's been hard work, but it's been a good life anyway.

He'd been happy there, and he'd been free – the world had been alright … until Joshua had died.

Shaking off that thought he concentrated back on decorating the blasted tree. Jean would be back home on Friday evening, and there was a lot to do until then – the tree had to be finished, the crib had to be build and of course he had to bake some cookies.

He wouldn't do that, were he living alone, but he wasn't living alone and so – for the boy's sake, he'd bite the bullet and prepare for Christmas.

Taking a look out of the window he frowned at the dark and heavy clouds that gathered in the sky, and he knew that soon, tonight or tomorrow evening at the latest, there would be a snowstorm racing over the area, and he frowned, because even though New Heaven's Valley was protected by several mountains, and even though winter down here was rather mild, bringing barely enough snow to last for longer than a few weeks, it had been snowing for days now and the small dale was already snowed in.

The streets uphill were closed off since this very morning, and only the chief with his firetruck was allowed to drive uphill, the sheriff with his winter truck – and of course Jean would be allowed, but Jean wasn't here, Jean was driving a heavy truck over the ice roads in north Canada, like each winter since 1932. He's been one of the first ice truckers worldwide, and he had to admit that the boy was doing a rather good job – according to the other truckers which were rather fond of the boy.

However, just a few hours, and then another snowstorm would hit the small valley, and he hoped that it wouldn't go north, or at least only then when Jean was on his way back home and had safely arrived the store where he could outwait the storm in the safety of the barracks.

 _Breåk· … ·~_ _ **†**_ _~*~*~*~*~*~_ _ **†**_ _~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Michael**

"I really don't know how you can drink that stuff." He frowned when Gabriel came back to the table, carrying his cup of coffee.

"You know, when I first came here to live with men, I was sure that I'd be constantly working far beneath my capabilities. They're human, after all. What could they do to challenge an angel? I was so very wrong, and I have to admit that this stuff – it makes everything a bit easier."

"Of course." He huffed. "It's easier to drink a cup of coffee than asking our Lord for more strength."

"No." Gabriel answered, calmly, lowering his head do one side a bit and he knew that he actually thought about his comment. "But I have to admit that I have learned to love it. Let me say it like this: with a cup of coffee in front of them, people talk easier and I have gotten used to it."

"In other words – you're coffee addicted." He grinned at the rolling eyes Gabriel gave him.

"Of course he is." Came Jethro Chandler's voice from the door.

It wasn't often that Cameron's brother visited church, and surely not during a weekday, but after the fire last summer he'd started visiting on Sundays from time to time. Not every Sunday, but at least every other Sunday. At first he'd said that he just came because of Walter, after all, the boy needed some stability in his new life, but with time the firefighter seemed alright with coming to visit.

"Says the blind to the deaf." He laughed. "The boy's at school? How's he doing?"

"He's at school." Jethro confirmed, sitting down and gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Gabriel brought over, taking a swig from the hot drink and leaning back in his chair. "Just brought him and defrosted the frozen water pipe. I really can't fathom how they got the idea that the boy is difficult."

"A few month ago you spoke differently." Gabriel laughed.

"I've picked him up from burning Mount Eagle while demons roamed the area after he's been running away, living on the roofs and being responsible for several break-ins. The idea that he might be difficult, suggested itself. Not to mention that actually he was a student at Hathaway, an academy for difficult – and criminal – boys."

"Now that you mention it – yes, one could have thought the boy being difficult." Gabriel nodded his head. "On the first view." He then added with a lifted eyebrow and he couldn't help grinning.

"Whatever." The man shrugged his shoulder. "Since we've called child welfare into the matter, and since he's officially my foster son, he behaves very well. I guess he's just needed someone who actually accepted him as a person instead of a thing that would inherit some wealth once."

"Just that he won't inherit anything now." He said. "As far as I heard Sherman Senior has disinherited the boy."

"Sure he has, but the boy doesn't care." Jethro Chandler growled. "The boy doesn't need their money – and he doesn't want it either. Having someone who finally cares for him is more important to him than all the wealth his father could ever bestow him with. And he's settled rather well in New Heaven's High, your teachers are doing a great job and he has found friends, too."

"I'm glad that you have involved child welfare." Gabriel said, getting off his chair and over to the coffee maker. "Anything else would have ended in a disaster and most likely even child abduction."

"Did you really think I'd keep the boy after the summer holidays without making it official?" Jethro asked and Gabriel chuckled.

"I wouldn't put it past you." His brother then answered, refilling his coffee cup and then sitting back down into his chair, enjoying the new and hot drink. "You're a man of deeds, not of words." He then said.

"Hmpf." Jethro made, most indignantly.

"Anyway, the boy is happy here." Gabriel said. "He's befriend with Conner and Bradyn, and on Sundays he's visiting either youth church or our sermons, if you choose coming, too, and he seems to like it."

"What is the only reason as to why I'm coming here anyway." Jethro growled, savoring the coffee.

"Of course." He said. "That boy is the only reason as to why you remain on Sundays after the sermon and as to why you're sitting here, right now, too."

Well, it was true, and Jethro Chandler didn't come here often, but there had something akin to friendship arisen between Michael and Jethro, and he had to admit that – he liked it. They were meeting at a regular basis, for talking, for having a good fight, and he had started showing the firefighter how to use a sword and a bow – even though the human always claimed that he could use his fire ax more efficiently than he, Michael, could use his sword, something that was rather laughable and Jethro knew it very well, but if he liked teasing him with it, then be it.

Albeit, he had to admit that the firefighter was rather capable when handling his axe – at least more capable than most of his warriors would be, and in a real fight with demons, he'd always trust the man if he yielded his axe, more than if he were to yield a sword as long as he hadn't really gotten used to that weapon.

"Of course." Jethro huffed, glaring at him and he smirked at the human. "That boy has had enough shit in his life so that I even bear your presence for his sake."

"And that means something." Came another voice from the door and he turned, meeting the black eyes of Sébastien Lafayette, and like always he shuddered for a moment before he narrowed his eyes.

"That means something, indeed." He slowly said. "But you know the meaning of a friendship between a mortal and an immortal, don't you?"

He watched Lafayette's eyes going distant, like so often lately, and he knew that he remembered – if only he knew what exactly the man remembered, because – he couldn't understand.

"Who are you?" He slowly whispered, eliciting a short flicker in the other man's eyes, and he knew, as softly as he'd whispered the question, barely audible for mortals' ears, Sébastien had heard the question word for word as much as had Gabriel.

 _Breåk· … ·~_ _ **†**_ _~*~*~*~*~*~_ _ **†**_ _~· … ·Łine_

 **Viewpoint of Gwyneth McFlaherty**

She didn't even turn the key in the ignition, because she knew that surely the car wouldn't start just like that – and that didn't have anything to do with her faith in God, surely not, but with her knowledge that the ignition simply was … defect.

They'd been to Norman at the beginning of September due to the horn being defect, and he'd made it clear that the entire car was a wrack that would see the junk yard rather sooner than later, and so they had already been looking for a new car.

They'd found two, actually, an old 1919 Ford Model T and a 1938 Chrysler Imperial.

Anyone would now say that surely it was a stupid thing to buy an old Ford if you needed a new car, if you had been driving a junk car for several years now, but this particular Ford, it was one of the most beautiful cars she'd ever seen – if one could say that a car was beautiful – and even though she wouldn't generally care about her car, as long as it brought her from one point to the other, she'd actually fallen in love with this one.

Not to mention that the Chrysler was much more expensive, even though she had to admit that it was a really good car that would serve them for many years and that the car resided in Whitechapel Mount City while the Ford was from San Francisco – _and_ not to mention that the car was not quite running at the moment.

 _Plus_ – she had no trailer to get the car to New Heaven's Valley.

In other words, the logical decision would have been to buy the Chrysler, and for several days, for two weeks, actually, she'd been asking God about it – without getting an answer.

"Really, why won't you just tell me which car I should take?" She'd asked one day, out of pure desperation. "Thinking logically, I should take the Chrysler, but the Ford is a great car, and it's a Woody, no less, Lord. A Woody, imagine! I'd really like this one, but what do you say?"

Of course she'd still not gotten an answer.

But the next day she'd met with Rebecca Mc Guaire, and Rebecca had told her how she'd feared that her son wouldn't get job, how she'd feared that the boy would end up on the streets – and she knew how much the woman had worried, because they had often been praying for the matter. And then the boy had been offered two jobs, could choose which one he'd like, and suddenly she'd known that God wouldn't tell her which car she had to take, that she could choose which car she wanted and, thanking God for it, she'd made her decision.

Of course Morgan hadn't been too happy about it, but he'd nodded his head, telling her that one way or another they'd get the old Ford from San Francisco to New Heaven's Valley, and one way or another they'd get the old Ford to working. Well, and if Morgan said they'd manage, then they would, one way or another.

Putting in the second gear and having the car rolling down the street, she released the clutch, thanking God that the engine actually started as that, too, wasn't always working lately.

Not to mention that for months now they had to re-fill water into the radiator or the engine would run hot – that's actually been the first problem the car had made before the ignition had died down, but seeing that the vehicle wouldn't survive the year anyway, Morgan had decided that he wouldn't spend any more money for it.

Well, and for at least three weeks the car was missing its turn signal, too … and still the old Ford wasn't ridable.

* * *

 _Breåk· … ·~_ _ **†**_ _~*~*~*~*~*~_ _ **†**_ _~· … ·Łine_

 **To be continued**

 **Next time in "between snow and ice"**

 _Chapter one: … well, just a few winter things, you know, like snow … and ice … and similar such things …_

 **Author's notes:**

 _A few words before starting to read "between snow and ice", are mostly welcomed ..._

 _Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing ..._


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